Getting high

I’ve been afflicted with writer’s block recently. I’ve started at least half a dozen posts, only to abandon them as a muddle of incongruous paragraphs that just won’t come together. Ugh! I can’t believe I’ve only posted twice since summer started.

It also kind of blew my mind a couple of weeks ago when I realised that it was mid-August and I still hadn’t yet made a foray into the Alps the whole summer. Quite shameful, really, considering Munich is less than two hours from snow-capped mountains.

Alida, coolest American in the world and bloggeress extraordinaire (I’d be happy to have a fifth of her talent), was scheduled to arrive in Munich as the last in my stream of peak summer visitors. As part of her visit, we lined up a trip to Tirol, one of Austria’s most mountainous states.

After a crazily rainy night drive through the foothills of the Austrian Alps, we woke up to the cool, quiet peace of a foggy Zillertal morning.

My stupid stupid hip injury and Alida leaving her inhaler in Munich meant that we couldn’t do any significant amount of hiking that weekend, and the weather didn’t permit any great views in any case. But it was still fun to stay close to the ground. The valley town we stayed in, Mayrhofen, cleaved in a lot of ways to the stereotype that people have of alpine Austria and Bavaria - cute-as-pie mountain chalets, their balconies bursting with riotous summer blooms, cosy inns full of wood panelling and crackling fires and faded picture frames of men and women gliding along on wooden skis. And of course, schnitzel. On this trip, Alida had her first taste of schnitzel. From this pic, I would say she approved.

Favourite things of Maria von Trapp covered on this trip included:

• Raindrops on roses (not the best weather, but lovely flower boxes everywhere)
• Crisp apple strudel
• Schnitzel (with potatoes, not noodles)

Alpine Austria is full of narrow, winding roads that lead hair-raisingly up and down the mountains past some amazing sights. It took some discipline not to stop at every pull out to gawp at views like this.

And I definitely came to admire Alida’s l33t stick shift driving sk1llZ0rZ on some of the hairpin bends.

 
The most famous alpine road in Austria is the Großglocknerhochalpenstraße (that translates to “Großglockner high alpine road”). It’s definitely the longest street name I’ve ever seen, and probably the longest word I’ve ever managed to say without having to draw a second breath. The road leads up into the highest peaks of the Alps, ending at the foot of Austria’s highest mountain, the Großglockner. Punit drove this road during his one month Munich exile last year and came back raving at how amazing it was, so it had been on my to-do list for almost a year.

Unfortunately, the weather continued to be uncooperative and we had to turn back in rain and heavy fog. But not before we got at least some indication of the sheer majesty of this place. I hope I have a chance to come back before the road closes again for the year (it’s snow-covered from October to May).

Inspired by the beauty of Tirol and frustrated by the bad weather karma, I used the next sunny weekend day that came along to hop a train to Garmisch-Partenkirchen, home of the 1936 Winter Olympics and the main town in the Bavarian Alps. The most famous attraction in Garmisch is the train trip up Zugspitze (Germany’s highest mountain). I decided not to do this – firstly, because despite being gorgeously sunny at ground level, it was still visibly foggy up top, and I couldn’t bring myself to shell out the arm and leg charged for the ride unless I was guaranteed to see four countries from the top. Secondly, I was hankering for some solitude amongst the hills, which I certainly wouldn’t get on the tourist train. My hip was still suspect (although I’d been cleared by my doctor to exercise again at that point), so I decided I’d risk a hike (going up hills feels fine, going down hurts).

The hike started in Partenkirchen, which, like Mayrhofen, definitely doesn’t skimp on the whole red-cheeked Teutonic alpine ambience thing. The leafy, quiet streets of the town are full of slanty-roofed houses painted in the local style called Lüftlmalerei. The whole of Bavaria is known for being pretty strongly Catholic, but the alpine areas are especially devout. Every second has Virgin Mary or a saint or “Gott bewahr das Haus” (God protect this house) painted on it. This is a humble shoe shop.

Thereafter ensued some nice huffy puffy on a path that wound through mountain fields mowed by domesticated goats and growling tractors. It’s a pretty nice place to have a farm, I must say. I was jealous of the below guy’s window office view. Those hilly fields do pose some OH&S issues, though. I saw two tractors come up opposite sides of a hill and almost take each other out. Happily it did not end in disaster, but there was much frantic yelling in Bayrisch for me to chuckle at.

One of the things I love about the Bavarian Alps is the little huts that are sprinkled throughout, from the foothills to the highest crags. Even “Mad” King Ludwig himself, of Schloss Neuschwanstein fame, had several regal mountain Schlösschen (little castles) built to order at the end of his favourite walking routes (nice if you can swing it). Most huts aren’t as fancy as Ludwig’s but they all have an undeniable rustic charm about them that simultaneously enhances and blends into the landscape.

That’s one of the unique things about hiking in Europe as opposed to in America or Australia. In the places I’ve lived before, once you get into the woods, you’re really in the wild – there’s nothing and no one else around. In Germany, you’ll suddenly emerge from silent forest into a clearing where some genius has (bless his heart) perfectly positioned a beer terrace to give you the optimal view of your surroundings. Obviously it lessens the feeling of being off the grid - one of the things I like about hiking – but it’s also pretty nice to know there’s a cold beer and a hearty meal waiting for you at the end of your uphill slog. Here’s the best beer view I ever had – in Tegernsee, halfway between Munich and the Alps proper.

These alpine guesthouses will invariably be family affairs, with friendly service and kids who look as young as 10 waiting your table. On a hot day, they’ll put out signs advertising cool, fresh buttermilk by the glass. Is there a better way to rehydrate on a sunny day? All signs point to NO.