In the Tyrol, again

The rain had stopped during the night, but it was still cloudy. It was supposed to gradually clear up during the day. I thought a trip into Innsbruck might be worthwhile, so I headed down the road. But a funny thing happened on the way to Innsbruck...I didn't go there. Why traipse around a large city, I thought, even if it is in the Alps? I'm in the Alps now. At the town of Zirl I turned north. These names of towns in the Tyrol are so interesting. They don't even sound German. I suspect that they derive form Celtic names that were then appropriated by the Germanic tribes that settled here after the demise of the Roman Empire. Some other examples, besides the charming 'Zirl', are: Imst, Stanz, Telfs, Prutz, Dalaas, Axams, Vols, Fulpmes, the sloppy sounding Bschlabs, the always merry Grins, and the very delicate Egg. My favorite name for a town was in Graubünden: Bitsch, with Cunter a close second. I'm not making this up.
It was a short, but steep ride to the German border and into the town of Mittenwald. It is famous for its violin makers, for its alpine setting and its charming Bavarian painted houses. Still, it is a tourist trap; already by 10 AM it was overrun with (European) tourists. The real gem of the place was the church of Sts. Peter and Paul (Nu? Vone goi vasn't enough? Ya needed two?), a splendid example of late Bavarian Baroque. It was consecrated in 1749. Simple on the exterior, the inside is a riot of decoration, gold, marble, statuary and frescoes.
Further down the road was the town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, renowned for having hosted the Winter Olympics (quite a while ago, I'm not sure when) and for being the home of the composer Richard Strauss. I made some attempt to find the Strauss Villa, but didn't succeed. No matter, I have seen it before, some 40 years ago. Garmisch is much bigger than Mittenwald and, to my mind, prettier. The clouds still hadn't lifted but I continued on anyway and re-entered Austria into the town of Ehrwald. This burg is on the other side of the Zugspitze, Germany's highest peak. The pinnacle of the Zugspitze was shrouded in clouds, but it was still an impressive sight. It occured to me that today is the Fourth of July. No flags and fireworks here.
When I got back to my inn (which is a restaurant/tavern/hotel) Frau Frischmann, the owner, told me that there would be a 'Blaskonzert' (wind-band concert) in the village this evening. I didn't know what to expect. The players are drawn from communities in the area. Some were youngsters, some were older. They all wore a uniform, a traditional Tyrolean Tracht: black pants, dark red vest, dark green woolen jacket, topped off by a pointed black hat with some brush-like thing on it. It was quite fetching. They lined up further down the street (in front of Gasthof Frischmann, actually) and marched in formation, playing some Tyrolean march, to the modest band shell. The procession was led by the band leader with a large baton and two lovely damsels in their pretty Tyrolean dirndls. The band was terrific. This was the real thing, local people celebrating their cultural identity, a simple event unsoiled by any kind of commercialism or mass appeal. I felt fortunate to witness it. I also thought of Gustav Mahler hearing something just like this in his village, and the effect it had on his creativity. His symphonies are full of folk tunes and the glimmer of marching bands. There were tables set up, the locals having a great time, devouring fried chicken and downing untold quantities of beer. I sat on a bench on the side for a while, not wanting to intrude in this local event. One of the regulars from the tavern where I'm staying, whom I have greeeted coming and going, approached me. He was very polite and told me he thought I must be a refined and highly educated person (okay, thanks for the compliment) and invited me to join him for a beer at his table. It had gotten really chilly and I was about to leave. Besides, I had had my quota of beer with dinner, so I declined. The beer drinking ritual can go on for hours. We chatted for a while and, without asking, he bought me a Schnapps. It was a fruit liquor, something like Calvados. He told me that the castle which is visible on a high hill down the valley was built in the 14th century. This valley is the only direct route going east/west through the Alps. It must have seen a lot of traffic, wars and plundering in the Middle Ages. This is really a lovely village. I was very fortunate to end up here.