Glurns

It has been six weeks since I returned from Europe. Now that the crisp, clear days of autumn have arrived I can't help thinking back nostalgically to the Alps, wishing I were there now, hiking in the serenity and glory of the mountains. Some of the most memorable moments of the entire summer are from the drive from Graz through the Alps to Switzerland and back. I covered a great deal of territory in too short a time and wish, especially, that I had spent more time in the South Tyrol. I have already posted my fleeting impressions of that segment of the journey along with some of my own pics on this blog, but there are plenty of photos I did not post. I intend now to add a few of the unpublished pics as I reconsider them.

In a blog posting I mentioned passing through the small medieval town of Glurns in the South Tyrol, the Alto Adige, in a corner of Italy that abuts both Switzerland and Austria. Glurns is the last town on the road heading towards the Swiss border at Mustair. I just passed through Glurns, driving under an ancient tower of the medieval walls and exiting at the other end. I did stop long enough, however, to take one snapshot, parking my vehicle in a small carpark on the side. Glurns was an enchanting place - at least for the ten minutes I spent there! It was such a surprise to come across this little town in the middle of nowhere. I have since done a little research on Glurns. It is considered the smallest town in the Tyrol with a population of 800 and celebrates a history that goes back to the 12th century; in Roman times it was a trading post on the north/south route traversing the Alps. It was once an important town. The German name Glurns is derived from a much older Rhaetio-Romansch word. The Italian appellation for the place, Glorenza, is admittedly much prettier, but it is a creation of the 20th century, after the region was amputated from the corpse of the Habsburg Empire and presented to Italy after The Great War.

I have temporarily selected my photo of the Glurnser Haupstrasse to be the wallpaper on my laptop. I still want to savor that moment frozen in time. It was, I remember, a warm afternoon in late June, a Saturday. There is not one soul to be seen on the street (though I did see people out and about when I turned the corner). The buildings, possibly four or five hundred years old, lean slightly like old men hobbling down the street. The cobblestones are well-worn. An old church tower is visible a short distance away, and beyond that the mountains that are probably on the Swiss side of the border. The other, admittedly finer, photos show the town to better advantage. (Unless I had rented a plane I wouldn't have gotten the aerial perspective.) The sporty convertible on the right is not mine; the ugly barricade on the left mars the view. But still, this is the moment I remember, a brief glimpse of a delightful, peaceful and somewhat mysterious place in a forgotten corner of the world.