I know an Amadeus back in Milwaukee – Nick from The Delta Routine. He comes by the moniker honestly; it's his middle name. I won't reveal his last name – blown mystique is so hard to recover – but I will tell you his dad plays drums in Semi-Twang.

Tomorrow, I will walk to his namesake's birthplace in Salzburg. At the club tonight, I felt like apologizing all night to Wolfgang for the loud and undignified sounds rolling of the stage a few blocks from his old haunts.

The place we played tonight is called Rock Haus, at least as much a reference to the type of music heard in it as it is to the fact that the back half of the building it's in is blasted out of the base of a decent sized mountain. An old brewery and a nice city financed this piece of enlightened re-purposing.

Outside, the facade is modern and nicely done at that. Inside, it looked like what you would imagine the original Cavern Club might have, sort of a cave meets quonset hut. Again, we have found a venue very different from the ones before. This tour reminds me of the old Kellogg's Variety Packs. What do you want today: A quaint country Inn or a quasi-bunker?

Speaking of all things quasi-bunker-ish, we have finally hit the part of this tour where a little history is unavoidable. Just above Salzburg, a little out of town, sits the Eagle's Nest, Hitler's aerie in the clouds where bad deeds were dreamed up and unfortunately unleashed on unsuspecting world. I think you're probably familiar, but to see it up close is to marvel at the beauty of his homeland and wonder how such a place could inspire such evil.

We also came upon a shrine on the road marking the end of a long march for prisoners of the concentration camp. The date on the marker was from the end of the war and Kurt, Mr. History Buff, speculated that it might be they were taken out of Dachau when it became obvious the camp would be liberated. Where they were headed was not obvious to us; the inscription stated that many were lost. The sculpture was modest in size, similar to the numerous roadside shrines you you see (this is also pope country, home of the retired Benedict). It was nicely done, another reminder of the way history is everywhere here, haunting the present.

Tomorrow, we meander for the first part of the day, and travel to Italy and a night off. It's a long drive, and the break is needed. My shoulder and neck are complaining from four straight nights of playing with the skinny strap I had to borrow. Packing turned out to be an imperfect science. What a surprise! At least I have the car keys I have absolutely no use for over here.

The room in Salzburg where I will lay my head tonight is the kind designers, especially the one I am married to, dream of. Clean, modern and near perfect. I am trying to wrap my head around a string of unbroken pleasant surprises. I know a disaster or two would make better copy, but I could get used to this. It will of course ruin me for real life when I have to face it again.