My Austrian Holiday, complete writings

I've finally decided that I will just put the whole thing into one entry, so that way it is uninterrupted by other posts in my blog. This is taking longer than what I had expected, because I'm adding to some parts and reducing others.


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Thursday the 12th and Friday the 13th: two days that seemed to be one.

I am now safely arrived in Hallstatt, Austria. My god, I love it here already. It is situated in the Salzkammergut region generally but specifically in the Dachstein Range. It is maybe 1.5 hours SE of Salzburg by car, 2.5 hours by train. Kaethe Hoell, owner of the Hotel Hirlatz, picked me up at the ferry landing. But I am getting slightly ahead of myself in my excitement, so I must go back and talk about the flights.

My plane took off from O'Hare (ORD) Terminal 2 about 20 minutes late, because the tail winds were too strong, so we had to wait to use a different runway. Taxied around while my blood pressure began to rise. I'm not sure that I needed to know about this little glitch in the flight plans already. Sometimes there really is such a thing as too much information. As we catapulted down the concrete slab, I really began to wonder what I was doing there and why I was so driven to take this short vacation. I was fearful, yet optimistic that I was doing something very important. It felt like big step in my life, and I was taking it alone.

As it turns out, the flight aboard United Airlines 958 was fairly uneventful, although that is not to say there weren't moments in which I felt like a cat that had just noticed a very large dog with bad intentions coming towards it. My finger nails were digging deep into the flight cushion and the hair on the back of my neck was rising, yes. For instance, this was the standard reaction each time the seat belt lights would illuminate and the plane would begin to feel like it was a canoe on a choppy lake. The worst bit of it was over the Hudson Bay. Sometimes there would be absolutely no turbulence when the pilot would caution us, so I'm not sure what to make of it. As it happened, the inflight movie that I watched was Hotel Rwanda. There is not a better way to remind yourself there are worse ways to live and die, and tragedies far greater than one plummeting airplane. I surrendered my fears, chin up.

Once the plane landed at London Heathrow, I needed to catch my connecting flight to Munich, Germany. Lufthansa was completely ready for our arrival and had a British man waiting at the gate, saying, "Lufthansa connection to Munich! Are you going to Munich? Lufthansa connection to Munich. Do you need to catch a flight to Munich?" There were seven of us who were quickly shuttled from Terminal 2 to Terminal 3. We were driven through the underbelly of Heathrow, through the unloading areas for cargo. Large metallic boxes with airline logos and lines of conveyor belts littered the scene. It was a crazy ride, as it was the first time that I had ever ridden in a car speeding down the wrong side of the street on purpose. Yes, I know, how American of me to think like this.

Once again we went through security and then waited all of five minutes to board the next flight. I was sort of staring off into space when they said to begin loading, so I didn't hear the exact flight number and I began to panic, thinking that perhaps I was getting on the wrong plane. So just as I was waiting to step into the plane, I asked the leather-clad, shaved-headed man in front of me if this was the flight to Munich. He laughed and said, "I sure as hell hope so, because that is where I'm headed. You're American?" He then helped me by pointing out where my seat would be located, toward the back of the plane. I must have appeared quite confused and pathetic to have garnered this sort of attention. I was feeling incredibly silly at this point and, to my dismay, blurted out "Ah yes, in the peasant class, of course." You and Me Both, he said laughingly.

Lufthansa! I like this airline. We had thick cheese sandwiches on a hard bun and top-notch service. The plane's interior was modern and tasteful, the beige leather seats were comfortable. The flight was only an hour and a half and also was very smooth. As we flew over Germany and began our descent to Munich, the land below began to take on the quality of a patchwork quilt with the deep green shapes of conifer forests and extensive fields in the hues of butter and mocha. They were tied together by the grey ribbons of autobahns and dotted with the red-orange beads of tiled roofs. I was sitting on the side of the jet that faced north on descent.

Upon landing Munich, I went through passports quickly. All Nationals line. The officials sat in glass booths while possessing stern faces and bronze badges pinned onto tan uniforms with yellow trim. Silent and Cold, yet efficient. I was hoping that the warmth factor would soon improve.

Munich International is a clean and concise minimalist construction -- no surprise there. Picking up my luggage was a breeze, and then I entered into the main area where families and lovers and friends stand in waiting for the newly arrived. I asked for help to find currency exchange and then the train ticketing. So I purchased my tickets and then practically had to run across the outdoor plaza, as fast as I could with dragging my baggage, to the escalator that took me to the subterranean world. In less than three minutes I was heading SE to Salzburg Hbf. Very soon the S-Bahn came out of the tunnels and into the daylight, speeding across flat land. I kept a close eye on my watch and on the train schedule to make sure that I wouldn't miss my exchange. Still no friendly faces, and I began to feel very lonely while sometimes watching the graffiti whiz by. Changed trains at the Platform called Muenchen Ost, and then somewhere between Ost and Salzburg the mountains appeared. I'm not sure when or how, but suddenly they were there, looming large and majestic. They seem to come out of nowhere, like the Tetons.

I was feeling quite fatigued at this point, with the motion of the train sort of mesmerizing me into a hazy state. It wasn't until we neared Salzburg that I began to feel more coherent and once again felt great anticipation. After all, I wanted to see the fortress that overlooks the Altstadt. Sure enough, the train rounded a hill, crossed a bridge and there it was standing white against the clear sky, like a doting mother watching over her progeny. Off to the right I caught a glimpse of the old city's baroque architecture. Just for a bit, then it was gone. gone. gone. Hidden by the newer buildings as the train station became visible.

Salzburg Hbf was a confusing place for a newcomer. The signage wasn't very clear to me at all. Additionally, my bags felt as if I had packed for three months rather than one week and I was wishing that I had brought only a carry-on. I walked around the station, weaving in and out between rock doves and their excrement. I did manage to find a water closet for .50 Euro and an elderly lady watched my luggage for me. The man at the ticket window was a bit of a prick at first. He didn't want to make a print out of the itinerary for my next train, but I was persisent and he was irritated for actually having to work, and probably because I was yet another American tourist who didn't speak German. Off I went with a print out in hand. Found the correct departure platform and sat on a wooden bench next to a young woman who was obviously waiting for the same train. We sort of acknowledged one another, then I asked...

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Yes, but only a little, she replied.

So she said. In actuality, this girl, Andrea, had 8 years of it in school and had better speaking skills than many Americans. She is a student in Salzburg and was going home to Linz to visit her family over the extended weekend. After talking for maybe a half hour, we decided to board the train together. We found a compartment. There was a sliding glass door to keep out a large proportion of the noise, which was actually quite nice. So we bided our time discussing the merits of hemp chocolate and thai curry in relative peace. She also learned some new words, such as squirrel (heh heh!), squash (not the game), and homogenous (as in McCulture). It must be said -- if it hadn't been for her, my train travels would have lacked greatly. After an hour of rolling down the tracks, it was time for me to disembark at the Attnang-Puccheim platform, to catch my final leg of the train rides. I shook her hand and closed the glass door behind me, feeling sort of sad to leave the train.

So Andrea, where ever you are and in whatever you end up doing, I hope that life treats you well and that you'll find much happiness. I'm betting you will.

Before too long, I began to recognize the names of smaller towns from my readings regarding the Salzkammergut. Gmuden. Bad Ischl. Finally, after dozing here and there, I heard the call for Goseau and I knew that the Hallstaettersee begins there and that Hallstatt was going to be very soon. I watched for the town to appear on the far side of the lake, and when it did, it took my breath away. It was enchanting even through the sunlit water spots on the window. We went through a tunnel, and soon the train rolled slowly to a stop. I hobbled out of the train with difficulty. It felt so good to stretch my legs that I can't even describe it. The birds serenaded me and I could hear a cricket somewhere in the tall grass next to the abandoned railway station. I saw a thin, blonde man walking ahead, so I followed him because he had a purposeful step. He went down a trail to an old white stucco building that had a picnic table just inside the doorway. I slipped in unnoticed at first. He gave a look of appraisal when he turned around and saw me there. I straightened my back, sat my bags down and drank in the view in great swallows. I gazed up at the steep, snow-laced limestone cliffs that towered above the town's church steeples. The late afternoon sun created an alpenglow of copperleaf on the adjacent peaks. There was a distinct smell that I cannot possibly explain, except to say that if I could bottle it, I'd be a rich woman.

I smiled and thought, You've finally made it.

With great feeling and misty eyes, I patted my heart with my hand and said to him, "Did you grow up here?" Looking intently at me, the young man nodded. I shook my head lightly and said, "You must feel very lucky, it is so incredibly beautiful." He replied with a smile and a yes, and lit up a cigarette. Its scent wafted towards me.

I continued on, "You know, it is one thing to see photos in books, but this...this is beyond anything I expected. And the thing is, I've been to beautiful and famous places like Yellowstone, and the Tetons, and Yosemite, but never have I been as stunned by a setting such as this. It has the mountains, the lake, but better yet...it has a long, varied history and great Culture." He told me that he studied in Florida just the year before, and that he thinks the US has unique and interesting places worth visiting for its cultural aspects, such as NYC and New Orleans. "Ah, yes," I said, "but you have Vienna for that sort of culture, and I'm guessing that NYC would pale in comparison." He beamed with pride, obviously agreeing with my outlook.

About this time in the conversation, the ferry pulled up and a young man jumped onto the docking area to secure the ropes. The captain also stepped out then, and after waiting a few minutes to see if anyone else was coming across to Hallstatt (there wasn't) the schiff took off again. I stood looking out the windows at the town that was growing larger while the men's German conversation provided a musical background to the scene. Once we docked at Hallstatt, the captain called Hirlatz for me and then bid me a somewhat faltering goodbye. They spoke as much English as I speak German.

Kaethe Hoell from Hirlatz is a ray of sunshine. She approached me with a wide smile and an extended hand. We introduced ourselves and loaded my bags into her trunk, and I felt comfortable instantaneously because of her vitality and kindness. The ferry lands in the old city area of Hallstatt, just below the cathedral and cemetery. There is limited vehicle access and narrow cobblestone streets in this part of town. Just exiting the plaza, the Baroque buildings are so close together that only one vehicle can barely squeeze through at a time. There are beautiful display windows overflowing with hand painted glass baubles and ceramics and jewelry and copper chickens. In one stretch, we traveled on the edge of the lake for, oh, maybe 200 yards. There is a monument on this street to the young men of Hallstatt who were killed during the World Wars. A little ways from there is the major traffic intersection of the town, and the incoming traffic from the north emerges from a tunnel shortly before it. At this place stands a stone sculpture of an Iron Age man, with a quiver on his back. He is short and staunch and looks to be made of local quarry.

Hirlatz is comfortable, homey. It feels natural to be here.

My room has two single beds. The mattresses fit down into a wooden frame and there aren't any box springs. The down comforter is mostly enclosed by a white fitted sheet, but with an oval cut into the middle so as to show off the pretty light blue floral print. The comforter is then folded into thirds and placed so that the whiteness of the bottom sheet frames it. Very clean, very simple. It was perfect for me. The bathroom is small yet plenty big for one person. The bathtub is shorter and deeper than what is common in the States, and it works well this way.

I was very tired at this point in time, and felt grimy, so I stripped down and took a long hot soak in the tub. And promptly dozed off. I awoke when the water had cooled off enough that it had made me feel chilled. I stumbled into bed and slept soundly until 6:00 am, when the emerging sun stirred my slumber.

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Saturday, May 14, 2005

Today was a good day, all things considered.

As I wrote previously, I woke up around 6 am and hopped out of bed feeling well rested. I opened the window and peered out at the mountainside that was wet with dew. I felt like I was a baby squirrel who was looking out of his drey and surveying the world below for the very first time in his young life. The world was new, fresh, and ripe with possibility. I was on a walk within fifteen minutes, to the Altstadt. It takes 15 or 20 minutes at a leisurely pace, with stopping to take photos along the way. I like the location of Hirlatz, as it is near a hiking trailhead and on a fairly quiet road. It has the privacy that I was hoping for when I booked the room online. I really got lucky with this one.

I knew that I had plenty of time to walk around before breakfast because it is served at a fairly late 8-10am. So I grabbed my Nikon and both lenses because I thought that the streets would be quiet and would have very few pedestrians at this early hour. As it turned out, I was correct.

As I walked down Malerweg, I saw no one, only mallard ducks. I heard no voices, only the rushing water of Waldbach that accompanied my route past privat zimmers. The houses were quiet. Sheer, white lace curtains in flower-boxed windows stood in stark contrast to the darkness of the rooms behind them. The only people awake at this time, as far as I could tell, was the baker and the customers who were bicycling to this store. The Baeckerei-Konditorei G. Flock on Seestrasse is a creamy yellow stuccoed building with hand painted floral motifs around each window in peach and burgundy, chartreuse and raw ocher. There were bicycles near the doorway and a permeating aroma reminded my stomach that it hadn't been filled for at least 24 hours. I had sort of forgotten how long it had been until that very moment. I took numerous photos along the way and enjoyed immensely the fresh air and bright morning sun. The horse chestnut tree at the waterfront benches was in bloom and its long white spikes emitted a soft fragrance while the colors of Hallstatt were glowing in the morning light.

I can't adequately explain how enchanted I am with this place, Hallstatt. The cobblestone square possesses a statue and a free running water bubbler. There are wooden benches to rest upon while looking over the striking contrasts of the pastel buildings with their darkly stained wooden balconies and matching window trim. Off from the town plaza there is a narrow stone walkway that winds up an incline. Just barely off the square there is one particular private residence doorway that is absolutely lovely with its curling wrought iron doors and oxidizing copper lanterns, moss balls and tiles, rocks and ivy, and a hobbit doorway. I walked closer in order to size it up and it was just my height, at 5'4". I giggled with delight, I really couldn't help myself. I felt rich and full. Just then, a man in a gray jacket opened the door, stepped and then unfolded his tall frame, which was well above 6'. We nodded to one another and exchanged Morgen greetings. I was so happy, I was beaming. He went up the narrow walkway and after a bit I continued that direction also. After a while it turns into a tunnel of steps, a corridor with residence doors and an artist's shop. At the top, when emerging from the covered walkway, there is a sign in both German and English that reads something to the effect of: Dear Visitors: Please notice that you are standing at a sacred place for devout Christians. Please be respectful by remaining quiet. So there I was at the cemetery entrance. I turned to the right, went up the steps and through the waist-high wrought iron gates.

This place is aweing, silencing; the sign now seems unnecessary, or redundant. The cemetery faces east and the rising sun was burning off the mist that surrounded the mountain peaks. The mountains were a haze of lavenders, a mixture of greys, and the lush of greens that exist only during Spring. I was suspended somewhere between two worlds, it seemed, with the houses and church steeple below and the mountains towering above. The lake was quiet, reflective; so was I. Two concentric ripples on its surface formed from a lone pair of mallards. There was no noise from vehicles, only birds serenading one another in the network of vines in and above the cemetery.

The graves themselves were works of art. Works of love and works of time. This place seemed so alive, so contrary to its purpose, and I felt fully the preciousness and brevity of life. Each grave is shrine-like, and most have either a wooden or wrought iron crucification scene: Christ's head with thorns, or the nimbus, or Mary holding the crucified Christ's body. Some of the ironwork consists of spirals or of flower motifs, those were my favourites. Each bears dates and names like Zauner, Steiner, Putz, Hemetsberger. Planted flowers overflowed from lichen-covered stone boxes beneath the headers. I gather that within these boxes, somewhere, are where the bodies lay, yet the space seems nearly too small to fit a person in there. I am a bit perplexed about it. I saw a man near the charnel house, reading a Bible, I think. I asked him if it was alright to photograph here, and he affirmed it. There was a silver tabby cat that also was starting her day there. I gave her a pat on the head and she flopped onto her side and wriggled around on the small pebbles. I thought that she wanted me to scratch her belly, whoops! Off runs kitty, with a spiteful glance back at me. Fricking cats, sending mixed signals all the time.

At 9:15 am I started back to Hirlatz. The streets were filling up quickly with tourists. Damned tourists. Heh! Surely I wasn't one? I arrived back to the gasthof at 9:30 and nestled into a corner table at the back of the restaurant. I was in a small room lined with European mounts of goats and stag and photos of family members high upon the peaks, in snow and with their dogs. A wall of windows was to my back. Here I devoured 2 white rolls from the bakery, a half pear, a package of nutella, a boiled egg. Apfel juice washed it down.

A while after breakfast, I went for a short walk on the trailhead that begins just outside my bedroom window. I walked as if I were going to Obertraun, which was actually where I had hoped to end. I passed a shrine just shortly up the trail. I stepped into the small space that was outfitted with a crucification sculpture, two praying benches, one burning red candle and a vase of tulips, in yellow and red. After sitting a bit on one of the benches and contemplating the religions, I walked for about an hour, then alas, mudslide and avalanche debris hindered my progress. I easily made it across the snowfield full of broken tree trunks and upturned boulders, but the mudslide area looked a little too wet for me. The terrain was steep beneath the slide. Considering that I had gone alone and that I hadn't told anyone where I was headed, I thought that perhaps I shouldn't take many risks at this point. I regretfully turned back. It's not like me to turn back, but this time I felt that I should. If only I had had a friend to walk with.

When I got back to Hirlatz, I decided to sit at the tables outside and order some food. I decided on something that was supposed to be a dumpling of some sort. Well, suffice it to say, it was unlike any dumpling I've ever had. That's not necessarily bad, but on this particular day it was. I got very ill from it. Stomach empty and very unhappy, I am just waiting until tomorrow to try eating again.

Sunday, May 15th, 2005

Regarding Saturday: So after feeling miserable yesterday for 2 hours, and then sleeping for another 2 hours, I went for another walk to the downtown area in order to see if anything of interest was happening. There was supposed to be a concert on the 14th, a brass band, beginning at 7:00pm. I walked toward the plaza where the building is located, but I didn't hear any music coming from within and so I sat on a bench for a bit to bide my time. It had been raining and had stopped briefly. The pink building with white stripes seems to be a happening sort of place, but I suddenly felt shy and not brave enough to enter the place alone. I don't know why. I watched people walk through the marketsquare. A blonde woman came outside from the pink building, obviously feeling good about life after a drinking a couple of beers, and was singing happy birthday in a beautiful soprano. Her voice echoed off the facades and balconies in the plaza.

I've noticed that dogs are very welcome here, that people take their dogs everywhere it seems and never are they on leashes. At restaurants it is commonplace for a canine to be seated near its companion's chair. When other dogs come along there is always the alpha-beta struggle and socializing, hairs raised on their backs and much growling and whining. Commands from owners settle the situations fairly quickly.

The rain got heavier so I opened my umbrella and headed toward the ferry landing and the nearby Hallstatt Schmuck, a jeweler's business. I was a little surprised to see that he was still open for business. I had been eying up a necklace and bracelet set ever since my arrival and had seen it in a display case on Seestrasse. This necklace is a handmade Celtic design in silver. I surrendered to the desire. Ah, and everyone knows that one of my weaknesses is silver jewelry, especially if it is vintage or looks to be. We struggled through the transaction, for we didn't speak the other's language but yet it worked somehow. He took great care, first putting a drop of oil on each clasp before meticulously folding each bag at the corners and then slowly down and over. I surveyed the shop's contents while waiting. He folded three small bags for two items, time ticking slowly and no hurrying -- it was if he were wrapping a gift rather than a purchase. The shop effused a warm glow and smelled of old, dark woods. I noticed a really interesting circular and knotted textile on a stool. It was obviously handmade and I asked him if he had made it, while I motioned with my hands appropriately to get my point across, and he understood. No, he said, he got it in Yugoslavia many years ago. Very nice, I replied, then thanked him as he handed my purchase to me. I took my leave from Alois Riedler's jewelry shop and went back out into the dark and quiet rainy streets.

The rain here is not like that of home. There was not any thunder or lightning, rather a clean downpour of freshness, in straight lines. There are no sideways sheets of rain that spit down in waves upon you, ignoring your umbrella, accompanied by thunder clashes and lightning veins that make you cringe and jump and run for cover, like there are in middle America. This is peaceful, but could be boring after a while. Maybe. Difficult to say. I wonder if it's always like this sort of rain, or if it changes characteristics during the summer months. I'll have to come back again to find out, I suppose. After all, I really like our powerful thunderstorms. There is something incredibly humbling about watching a wall cloud come up a valley, wreaking havoc with its strong winds. Every place has its forte, I suppose.

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Today, Sunday, was quiet. The rain that had begun late yesterday afternoon continued on through the night and ceased early in the morning. The day was fresh and new, the air radiant with earthiness. I took the opportunity to follow the Waldbach upstream. A trail leads the way up to a big rapids. On the way I noticed that the snails and slugs had really come out. Now, here they have snails and slugs on a scale of which I've never seen. There was a white snail with pink highlights to its spiraling growth and a salmon pink center dot. Its shell was about 1.75" in diameter. But the slugs! Holy shit, they were fricking huge and intimidating. I was careful to watch my step, because of the size and the abundance! They are maybe up to 6" long when slithering about. They are brownish-black with a smooth front half and a highly textured back half. I sort of thought them to be pretty after the initial shock had worn off. I wonder if they are edible, not saying that I'm interested in trying them, but just for curiosity's sake I wonder.

I also took the time yesterday to sit on the waterfront to watch a pair of swans. This pair has banded legs, and they don't particularly care for said bandings. A great deal of their preening time was spent trying to rid themselves of the nuisance. These swans are here every morning, along with mallard ducks. So far I've counted 5 swans total.

The Waldbach runs to the Hallstattersee, through the town and past beautiful homes with vines on the facades that are pruned to look like trees with only a few main branches. Windows are hung with white loosely woven laces, and needles laces, too. I especially like the Privat Zimmer signs, they are very special to me. The bed symbol is comprised of a weave pattern for a blanket. Often they are mounted within wrought iron frames on a post.

The yards are well cared for, yet look lived in and welcoming. Not too formal. Sometimes vines are used as the horizontal bars on fences, twining the posts together. The trees are usually some sort of flowering variety of either ornamentation or fruit, pinks and whites. Moss and rock are abundant; Painted shutters, cracked glass, stained glass, window boxes are the norm. Sometimes there are cartouche paintings on the stucco. The dark stains of the woodwork are in good contrast to the heavily textured pastel stuccoes. You get the feeling that some of these homes are 500 years old, easily, which is so very foreign to me and yet I love them for it. The shingles are mostly wooden and some have steel triangular anchors. I assume it has something to do with the snowfall.

There is a bird that somewhat looks like a black-capped chickadee. Its head has more white on it, though, and it is slightly larger , too. The tail is also longer, and it is used well. This bird hangs out on the docks, making vertical dances into the air, about 6-7 feet straight up and then fluttering back down. Its tail feathers fan out, displaying one white feather on each side. The tail also bobs up and down while the bird walks. This is to say, that while initially they look like chickadees, they ended up being very different in their niche but every bit as enchanting as the sweet little chickadees back home. I don't recall hearing a song from these, I will have to listen for vocalizations.

The rain and increasing number of tourists this morning has curtailed my hopes of drawing the cemetary. Maybe Tuesday it will quiet down again, I hope so, but tomorrow is a holiday.

My stomach is better again. I had mellow foods for breakfast. I got riskier at lunch and tried a "hot dog" at a stand near the ferry. Okay, these aren't Oscar Mayer wieners, they are more like long skinny brats with many spices in them. Heaped high with onions and ketchup. ugh, I got sick from onions and vinegar yesterday. I tried to secretly rid myself of some onions from the hot dog. I felt guilty for it, and wasteful and rude. He was having a very bad day, electricity was not working properly. He was sweating and running around like a chicken with its head cut off, I felt horrible for him. Afterwards I got a chocolate and banana milkshake from an ice cream shop at Giovanni's, near the Simony. Yum. Best milkshake ever.

I finished my day at the Pferdestall, a pizzeria-bar. Calamari fritte and Palermo pizza, accompanied with Zipfer beer. In Austria, there is absolutely no rushing you through your meal by the waiters. It is really nice. I'll be looking for Zipfer at one of the import liquor stores in Madison, I liked it that well. As well, there was a little grayish-brown mouse that was coming out from a corner to look for crumbs, then would scurry back the second that I would make any movement. So I would try to sit perfectly still so I wouldn't scare him. Even the blinking of eyes would make him skitterish. Damn, it was so cute that I couldn't resist throwing a little bit of pizza crust to it in an inconspicuous manner (because you probably shouldn't feed mice in restaurants? maybe?) When he finally found his intended dinner, I felt it was a victory for all of mousekind. He was my date for the evening, I guess, and was great company I might add. The pizzeria's interior was yellow plaster with 2x6's of darkly stained boards that broke the wall into a puzzle of shapes. There was a frieze of old tiles in brilliant blues and pinks and greens. The benches around the tables were upholstered with rag weavings, the kind that you see made around home in Wisconsin, too. But I've never seen them used for upholstery until now -- at home they are commonly used for rugs.

What will tomorrow bring? I am planning to go to the Dachstein ice caves at Obertraun.

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I have to confess, this is where my written diary ends. I didn't write an entry on Monday night, and then Tuesday was ...well. I am not sure that I will write much about my last two days in Hallstatt. Some things are not to be written of, only remembered.

But if you should ever travel to the jetty town of Hallstatt, go to the Umbrella bar on Seestrasse and check your emails while drinking a Stiegl. Strike up a conversation with Ollie, the owner, and see who else comes along. You just never know what life will bring to you.

Of all the places and times, this was mine.



June 5, 2005