Spielberg has his “Disclosure Day,” when aliens descend, but the Spoiled Guest recently spent Ascension Day, when Christ ascends, in Munich, Germany. If we could experience only one miracle, we’d choose the latter.

It had been almost eight years since our last trip to central Europe, and the Spoiled Guest wanted to revisit three of his favorite cities — Munich, Vienna, and Salzburg, as well as an Austrian lake — Lake Fuschl — that he’d been drawn to since he first saw it in a random screensaver shot a decade ago. So this last May, SG and his wife, SGW, embarked on a two-week journey of revisitation and discovery.

After navigating the dreaded within-security bus transfer between the domestic and international terminals at Newark International (including a climb, with our carry-ons, up two flights of dingy stairs to reach the international concourse level), the Lufthansa lounge is pleasant and well-catered. Departure turns chaotic at the gate, however (late boarding, poor signage, a ridiculously large coterie of supposed invalids requiring early boarding). But once aboard our Lufthansa flight, we find roomy enclosed business class pods with perhaps excessively techy touch controls for everything. Excellent food, friendly attendants. Perhaps four hours’ sleep.

Arrival at Munich’s airport is awful. We’re arriving on the national carrier at a major international hub, yet we’re provided stairs to a bus rather than a jetway, then subjected to absurdly duplicative biometric hoop-jumping through immigration, where the gatekeepers stare endlessly at their screens waiting for our data to load. God knows what it would be like with more than a handful of us non-EU types to process.

Finally we find our friendly, efficient driver who takes us to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel near the heart of Munich’s Old Town. We’re given a charming, spacious suite, though I’m not crazy about the rather somber color palette, and the spacious bath is off the foyer rather than the bedroom. Not like our absurdly plush upgrade last visit, but oh well. We take a quick stroll around the Marienplatz, then back to the hotel for a nap.

Dinner is at Restaurant Halali, in which one of the characters in my novel Lifers sought refuge and a good Bavarian meal, but where I’ve never actually been. It’s delightful, just as described in the book, but better. Delightfully traditional ambiance, superb cuisine (I have the deer filet, SGW has loin of veal), charming captain, perhaps 15 tables, and we draw looks as we’re probably the only non-regulars in the place.

Best of all, the handsome couple next to us immediately strikes up a conversation in perfect English, initially about where we’re all from (they, from Munich and Salzburg), but once they learn our itinerary, turning quickly to their opinion of the best places to eat in Salzburg and Vienna. Turns out I’ve arranged our dinner itinerary rather well, but certain corrections are in order, and our new friend provides his suggestions on two pages of notes that he composes and hands over. As they depart with hugs and an exchange of contact info, we learn that the beautifully dressed lady of the duo is a doctor specializing in hernia treatment with offices in Munich and London (perhaps catering to soccer stars, I conjecture). Thoroughly delightful meal and company.

Back to the Mandarin for a Fernet Branca in the bustling Ory Bar next door (not part of the hotel), and gratefully to bed.

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Next day, to our Protestant surprise, is Ascension Day, forty days after Easter, when Jesus was taken up into heaven. Every business is closed in Munich, but what better time to visit three of the old town’s most beautiful churches, all within easy walking distance of each other. We take a needlessly circuitous route to find the amazing Asam Kirche (once the private chapel of the architect Asam brothers) — astonishing baroque maximalism in a tiny space. Then to the rather austere Frauenkirche, and finishing at the beautiful, serene Jesuit cathedral of St. Michaels, our favorite of the day. 

Overall, I’d give the Mandarin Munich a B+. Its location near the Marienplatz is its strong suit, but we’ll try the Rosewood next time.

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Last visit, we traveled from east to west, including a train ride from Vienna to Salzburg. This time it’s west to east, starting with an easy 2-hour drive to Salzburg in a lovely Mercedes driven by a charming dead-ringer for Steve Carell with impeccable English. Just enough chat on the way through the beautiful Bavarian-Austrian countryside, mountains that rival Colorado’s, but greener.

The Hotel Sacher Salzburg was undergoing a noisy remodel last time we were here, but now we enjoy the result: everything gleams as though it were new. We’re assigned a delightful suite with a balcony overlooking the Salzach River and the Old Town. Spacious bath, tons of closet and drawer space in a walk-through dressing area. Beautiful bar, nice cafe’ for breakfast. And most of all, a welcoming and helpful staff. Gets an A.

Nice lunch in the busy cafe, then out into the chilly, gray day, where we cross over to check out the beautiful pedestrian streets we remember. I resist SGW’s urging to get some lederhosen, instead buy new reading glasses, then back to the hotel for a nap.

Dinner is at the Blaue Gans (Blue Goose), recommended by our new friends from Munich. Pretty, informal, traditional rooms, and as instructed we introduce ourselves to the charming hostess, Celine. Lovely table, energetic waiter with, again, perfect English. I have asparagus soup (it’s Spring), and the Guinea hen with truffles — delicious. Back to the gorgeous, busy bar at the Sacher for a nightcap, and to bed.

Up late, nice breakfast in the cafe. Another gray morning. We bundle up and head on a walk to the Salzburg Cathedral, where there’s “music at noon.” Nine euros each, and we’re admitted to the immense, spectacular nave, lined with chapels and 5 separate organs. At noon, the organist plays each of them in succession, each beautiful in its own way.  

A perfect half-hour recital. When we emerge, though, it’s raining, so we unfurl the umbrella and make our way to St. Peter’s Church nearby, next to which our dinner this evening is scheduled at St. Peter Stiftskulinarium, purportedly the oldest restaurant in Europe. A wedding is happening at St. Peter’s, with a VW getaway car waiting for the bride and groom. We cover the south end of Old Town, the farmer’s market. Lots of non-foreign (i.e., Austrian and German) tourists everywhere. There’s a marathon tomorrow, we learn!

Onward to Henzl (sister outpost of the Goldener Hirsch Hotel) for lunch on the Getreidegasse shopping street. Nice atmosphere, good food, but slow service — an entire family of five enters after us, eats and leaves before we’re served our entrées (but then they all ordered schnitzel). Home to nap, then Uber back to the Stiftskulinarium. Bit of a wait for our table, but once admitted it’s a charming series of old rooms, well staffed and with a fun menu. I opt for the foie gras terrine (excellent) and tenderloin of beef. The jovial sommelier pushes his own house label on us, and it’s just ok. An actual taxi with a grumpy female non-English-speaking driver takes us back to the Sacher for eleven Euros, and we skip the bar and fall into bed.

Next morning we rise to the first blue sky and sunshine of our trip! There’s a marathon on in Salzburg, and we watch the participants run along the river. One last breakfast at the Sacher, and we’re off with another affable driver through the hills east of Salzburg, paragliders wheeling above, green hills and blue skies. In barely a half hour, we arrive at Rosewood Schloss Fuschl, on beautiful Lake Fuschl (in German, the Fuschlsee), which turns out to be a larger, lusher version of our favorite lake in Colorado, right down to the two peaks in the distance flanking a third with snow on it. 

The Rosewood greeter takes us to our room, which, to our dismay, is up five flights of centuries-old stone stairs. (We’ll learn there’s much up-and-down climbing in this structure, which was the hunting lodge of the archbishop of Salzburg in the 1400s.) Worse, though, the perfectly nice room we’re shown to, with a stunning view over the lake, has a tiny bath with a single sink and a shower, no tub. We’re torn between our delight at the view an our disappointment in the bath, and on consulting the Rosewood webpage for room option specs, decide to ask for an upgrade to a Deluxe Heritage Suite. The front desk is happy to oblige for another 680 Euros a night and a warning that the suite is still another floor higher in the elevator-less tower. Twin sinks and a tub are an easy yes for the Spoiled Guest, and after another climb (and another tip to the herculean porter) we’re in a truly glorious suite with the same stunning view, beautiful bed, and a far superior bathroom.

We tour the amazing spa and make a res for massages tomorrow. The grounds are upscale mountain rustic, in a uniquely Austrian way. A movie was made about Princess Sissi on this site in 1954, and we can see why. The view justifies all. Dinner that night in the Schloss “fine dining” restaurant (there are two dining venues), and it’s just that — fine, nothing particularly memorable, except the traditional giant merengue dessert that I’d seen served in Saltzburg and wanted to try. Amazing. Then a drink in the darkly atmospheric bar, with a very chatty on-the-spectrum Vietnamese bartender, and to bed.

Next morning we have breakfast in the fine dining venue and we’re off for a 2-mile stroll along the lake, lovely hiking path impeccably maintained (of course), mildly challenging, green and gorgeous. Lake color is positively Caribbean. Friendly hikers pass on the 11-kilometer circuit around the lake. Back to the schloss for a nice lunch of tuna crudo and oysters with a delicious vinaigrette, then to the beautiful, modern spa for our twin massages, also excellent. SG takes a dip in the striking indoor pool, sip some tea, and read for a bit before SGW declares she needs a “snack,” so it’s back to the Princess Sissi tea room for a veal tartar and rose’ — again superb.

Dinner is also at the Sissi tea salon — actually a lovely casual restaurant with those stunning views out over the lake. I have an amazing tuna crudo, a beet salad, and the lake perch, with a glass of lovely white, the local Gruner Veltliner — all excellent. After dinner drinks at the table and the long climb back up to our beautiful suite.

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Up late, a nice breakfast in the formal dining room, then to the front desk through winding hallways, upstairs and down, fine art on the walls, to have the staff print out our train tickets for Friday’s trip to Vienna. Then off on a recommended clockwise path around the lake, which takes us past a fun swimming dock, but disappoints because it eventually wanders too far from the lake and into cow country. Lovely, but the lake’s the thing. The charming staffer who sent us this way probably assumed we were up for the 6-kilometer walk to the nearest town, Fuschlstad, that must eventually fringe the lake, but we’re not. We circle back to another great lunch and up to the room for some reading and catching up on the social life at home that we’re happily missing.

Dinner in the Schloss again, better this time, with the lovely young hostess — Lara, we learn — doting on us. SGW has the perch, and I have an amazing pigeon cordon bleu in a delicious sauce. Wine pairings excellent, nightcaps at the table, and we bid a warm Auf Wiedersehn to Lara, who won’t be working tomorrow night, our last. 

Up a bit earlier on our last day in the beautiful Rosewood Schloss Fuschl, breakfast and a quick walk before SGW’s pedicure while I lounge in the spa’s gorgeous, immaculate pool area. Then, in the Sissi tearoom, perhaps the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had, made even better by being dipped in the foamy vinaigrette that comes with the beet salad.  A glass of Provençal rose’ completes the perfect lunch overlooking the lake.

Up the long stairs, it’s time to pack, nap, and have a last dinner in this amazing place.  

NOTE: if we haven’t made this clear by now, this hotel is not for those with mobility issues. Many stairs to get anywhere, and only the newer, lower-floor units from its Marriott days are serviced by an elevator.

But even with the major drawback of the six flights (which felt like more) to and from our suite, and the lesser issue of only two dining venues (though we belatedly realized it wouldn’t be hard to pop over to Saltzburg for dinner), the Rosewood Schloss Fuschl gets an A, largely because of its incomparable setting.

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Up a bit early to finish packing, a quick breakfast, and arrangements are made to get our luggage down those stairs — truly the only downside of this stay. Friendly OG driver to the Salzburg train station. Modern, simple station, and we’re 45 minutes early. I spend the time locating the departure track and trying to decipher the position where the business class car will be (we have assigned seats, even). Once aboard, we’re in compartment with three comfortable seats, the third facing us and occupied by a handsome young businessman who spends his time chatting on the phone through his AirPods.

Two and a half hours to Vienna, where the fun begins, as we have no clue where to meet our drive and he hasn’t come to the platform. Finally What’sApp springs to life and after much back and forth we connect (nice young suited guy with limited English) and hike to the opposite end of the station, down into the underground parking garage, and out in our sleek Mercedes (is there any other kind?) into the sunny streets. 

Quick, if halting, ride to the hotel in some honking (!) traffic. The Sacher Wein looks polished (refurbishment was happening when we were here eight years ago). Much friendlier, more professional greet staff, and were assigned a beautiful corner suite on the very top floor with a large open air terrace on two sides (though not facing the Opera House, which we can forgive). It’s the “Katja Kabanowa Suite,” with another odd layout  so typical of old buildings like this one, a wall where it shouldn’t be, and strangely sparse on closets and drawers. Still, a beauty for our last few nights.

We take a quick walk up the Kartnerstrasse, into Lobmeyer’s pretty glass and housewares store. A nap, of course.

Then an actual taxi to dinner at the fondly-remembered Steirereck, in the park, modern, Michelin-starred. Except it’s disappointing. Nice staff, but interminable wait for our entrees (two hours after our arrival), and when they arrive they aren’t good enough to make up for it. Really surprising in a place like this, as is the casual dress the clientele is sporting — I’m wearing my Brioni and a tie, while the guy at the next table is in a tee shirt to show off his tats. Amazing. 

A slight redemption in the Blue Bar at the hotel — so lovely. Then crash to bed.

Up late, nice breakfast in the beautiful, well staffed breakfast room (no “sorry, I was on the toilet” this time). The day includes ducking into both St. Stephan Cathedral and the smaller, more exquisite St. Peter’s, then a return to our favorite museum in perhaps the world, that of Natural History — and it’s all that we remembered so well. Astounding, endless exhibits starting with geology and working its way through millennia of animal and human development, all in a spectacular high-ceilinged edifice. Crowded with high schoolers on their final field trip, however. And we see that Patti Smith (!) is playing tonight in the park outside. We’ll skip it.

Lunch in the Museum Quartier, some shopping for socks and toiletries, and back to the Sacher for a much-needed nap. I make arrangements for dinner Sunday night, the only one unaccounted for.

Then dinner at the fondly-remembered, always-amusing Zum Weissen Rauchfangkeher, or “The White Chimney Sweep.” (His story has been cleaned up a bit since we were last here, when his name derived from sleeping with the baker; now he just got drunk and fell asleep at the door of the bakery —yeah, right.) Trad decor, talented pianist who sticks to stylized Broadway, an affable waiter, and a perfectly nice, well-executed menu. All one could ask for. Back to Sacher for a drink in the parlor (Blue Bar is bustling, as it’s concert night at the Operahaus), and to bed. 

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Breakfast in the cafe, then off in another warm, sunny morning to the Museum of Art History. Astounding, endless panoply of ancient European greats, room after high-ceilinged room. Then, on the walk back past the Hofburg, we stumble upon a lovely little uncrowded square and the Franciscan Church, unassuming from the outside, but full-on baroque within. Amazing.  Back to the Sacher and a nap.

And then that night —- disaster. Well, a very first-world disaster, but still. We taxi up to the edge of the Danube (delightful driver who gives me his card) to the (by me) much-anticipated Konstantin Filippou Restaurant. I’d been led by reviews (and the recommendation of our friends from the Halali), to expect unpretentious high-end cuisine, and had downplayed to C the minimum seven courses required to experience it. But it led with pretense and only got worse. Somber, spare decor, unremittingly gray, narrow space, pleasant enough service staff all in black, uncomfortable seating, not a tablecloth of any color to be seen. Tiny, artfully composed but not terribly tasty “dishes” (though mouthfuls would be more accurate), spaced out at a lugubrious pace over the next four hours. In fact, “lugubrious” should be the Konstantin’s middle name. Lots of thick sauces that detract from any possible complexity in the offerings, each of which takes thirty seconds to consume, like long series of amuse bouches, followed by ten or fifteen minutes’ waiting time till the next morsel. True discomfort sets in about halfway through, and still it goes on and on. The cheery staff seems to sense our irritation, but is helpless before the kitchen, which doles out the sacraments when it will. All-in-all, the low point of the entire trip, and a warning that two Michelin stars sometimes indicates only the gullibility of a Michelin judge. We’ll be avoiding multi-course culinary show-offing like this for the foreseeable future. Next time I suggest such a thing, I tell C, she should just say “Konstantin Filippou,” and that will put a stop to my feckless culinary fantasizing. (No Fernet Branca, either, to add insult to injury.)

Straight home to bed.

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Last day. Nice breakfast, then packing, checking on our car to the airport (it needs to leave earlier).  All the shops are closed, but the streets are still choked with tourists. We decide to wander over to check out the Rosewood Vienna, over by St. Peter’s, and find that it’s an oasis. Uncrowded small square, virtually no signage on the place except a simple “Rosewood” on the wall. Buffer entrance down stairs, charming lobby a flight up where we tell a nice reservation clerk that we just came from Rosewood Fuschl, and then up to the terrace restaurant, hushed an unbothered by humanity except for the random influencers photographing each other. Lovely lunch in the refreshingly unbusy surroundings. Obviously still just being discovered, but so much less a random tourist destination spot than the Sacher that we’ll be staying here next time. (Though regarding the tourism, the town is becoming so thoroughly choked with it that I wonder if there will be a next time.)

A last dinner in Vienna at Cantinetta Antinori, recommended by the Sacher concierge and by our friends from the Halali in Munich. It’s pretty, laid-back, convivial, with a funny Czech waiter and a delightful Tuscan menu. I have a delicious truffle risotto and a morel-sauced veal scallopini, C has burrata and a veal ragu pasta. Highlight of it all is the offering of Tignanello BY THE GLASS (it is, after all, an Antinori outpost), albeit 36 Euros a glass. We have three, and a fine tiramisu.

Back to the Blue Bar for a nightcap, and to bed a bit early.

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Up at 7, quick ablutions, breakfast, finish packing. I adjust the departure time to 8:45, as our plane leaves at 10:30. Nice half hour to the airport with another charming Austrian driver, this one born in Scotland. Things start off smoothly enough at Vienna International — security checkpoint is fine, though they want to inspect my briefcase on suspicion, it turns out, about my Rick Steves Guide to Munich and Salzburg (??).  Then things unravel. Huge line at the concourse entrance to redundantly check passports and boarding passes, then again at the gate, where there is no quarter given for business class, and zero boarding line signage. What is it about European departure procedures that permits this sort of chaos? VIP escort next time, please (we’re Spoiled, after all).

Once finally aboard our Austrian Airlines plane, all is rosy. Nice pods, attentive, pleasant attendants, great food — reminiscent of Turkish Airlines, which Austrian may be trying to emulate. As pleasant a10-hour flight home as can be, and we’re dreaming already of our return to these wonderful examples of all that Europe has to offer.