Grazer Nachbarschaft

I just can't keep my fingers off the camera shutter these days. I took an evening walk the other day, not in my usual favorite Geidorf neighborhood behind the Heim, but past the Odilien Anstalt and up the hill on the other side. Actually, it is a sizable hill, the Rückelsberg. There is a restaurant on top called Haus Jobstl which has been mentioned by my colleagues a few times. I found it by accident. There is a view from there of the Alps to the north of Graz. On my way up the hill I enjoyed the fine houses and gardens of the Waltersdorf neighborhood. There are some attractive modern homes as well. These photos are of a street not far from the Heim. I would guess the houses were built in the 1920's, in a style more art deco than art nouveau. It is not as grand as anything you'd come across in Vienna or Budapest (and I can now say that from experience), but this street is delightfully charming, the reason we like Graz so much.

Finale

On the Chain Bridge with view of the Duna, etc. It turned out to be a fabulous sunny day (after a chilly start).

Cafe

Yours truly in a cafe on Buda Hill. It was a fanciful neo-Gothic kind of lodge overlooking the city.

Keleti Station

Keleti Station is one of those pre-war train stations built during the heyday of the Empire. It's a bit shabby around the edges, but still an imposing building. Penny took this shot from the balcony of her hotel.

More Budapest

I'm posting a few more photos. These are courtesy of Penny who has a sharp eye for the interesting subject. This is the side entrance to the Gresham/Four Seasons Hotel, as grand a concoction of Jugendstil peacocks in wrought iron as ever there was.

Incident at Szombathéley

Traveling to a foreign country is always an adventure, especially when the language of the country you are visiting is as familiar to you as Middle High Klingon. Hungarian is certainly one of the more impenetrable tongues on the continent. Penny, a practiced linguist, and I attempted to 'crack the code' of the language we encountered, trying to guess how many genders Hungarian might have (it doesn't have any, actually), what endings denote singular or plural, what significance various diacritical marks have, etc. We didn't get very far.
Sunday morning we boarded our train at Keleti Station for the return journey. This time it was packed and, as we didn't have seat reservations, we were forced to sit in the smoking car (ugh!). This leg of the trip was also an express train. The conductor, who spoke only a little German, made his rounds and informed us that we had to pay a supplement to the tune of 900 Hungarian Florints (about $5). We didn't have that many florints left. What would it be in euros? we asked. He consulted his electronic ticket gizmo and announced that it would be 36 euros. I think we simultaneously exclaimed our disbelief: sechsunddreißig euros???? That would be about $55, an outrageous sum. Penny would have none of it and dug in her heels. The conductor, poor man, who was just trying to do his job, became intransigent on the issue. We were at an impasse. He confiscated our tickets. The last word we heard from his lips before he stormed off was: Polizei! We were going to be dragged off the train by the police at the next station. Somehow the aid of another passenger was enlisted, a young lady who acted as translator. It seems that the conductor had missed a decimal point on his gizmo. The actual conversion was 3.6 euros, not 36. And he obviously had no idea how much a euro was worth. The crisis was diffused and we paid our florints/euros. We had to change trains at Szombathéley, boarding an Austrian train for the second leg of our journey. I'll bet that conductor was glad to see the back of us. And here is yet another view of the Danube from Buda Hill.

Buda Hill falcon

This is on Buda Hill again, a statue of King Steven, the legendary founder of Hungary. There was a guy in vaguely medieval garb sitting there with a large hooded falcon. He was offering tourists the experience of having his bird sit on their arm -- heavily gloved, of course (the tourist, not the bird).

Museums

The Museum of Applied Arts was just down the street from my hotel. The building is an exuberant example of Hungarian Jugendstil with an overlay of Moorish influence. We couldn't spare the time to spend in any museum during this short stay. I look forward to exploring Budapest's fine museums on my next visit.

Zsinagóga

A short walk from the basilika is the Zsinagóga (synagogue), one of the largest in Europe. It is built in a Byzantine/Moorish style. My photo doesn't do justice to the fine brick work of the façade. As it was a Saturday the interior was closed to visitors.

Szt. István Bazilika

After our pleasant visit to Buda Hill we made our way down to the river and again crossed the Chain Bridge. The weather had (thankfully) cooled down and the wind blowing down the Danube nearly took us along with it. We passed the Gresham/Four Seasons and headed towards the Basilica of Saint Stephen, the patron saint of Hungary. The neighborhood around it has been turned into a delighful pedestrian zone, adorned with elaborate street lights. There is a large open square in front of the basilica, making the building even more imposing. It took many years to complete and the style is described as 'eclectic'. The interior has a new, scrubbed-clean look, but it is still very beautiful.

Parliament

The House of the Hungarian Parliament graces the Pest side of the Danube. It was built in neo-Gothic style and is the third largest parliament building in the world. It is hard to resist photographing it.

Budapest III

The city of Budapest was created in the late 1870's by joining the two cities of Buda and Pest, each occupying a side of the Danube, into one metropolis. (I suspect this was inspired by the celebrated union of Osh and Kosh in Wisconsin.) The river dominates the city with Pest on rive gauche. On the other side Buda castle, seat of the Kings of Hungary, looms on one side of a long narrow mesa, nearly a kilometer in length. The hill is nearly a city unto itself with buildings from various periods in its long history. In one building near the castle a plaque proclaims that Beethoven once made a concert appearance there. The Soviet Stalinist regime gutted the Palace itself in the 1950's but it has since been restored. The view of the Pest side and the river is magnificent. Even Vienna doesn't offer anything like it as there are no hills in the city. Oddly, Vienna, which celebrates the Danube, has its back turned to the mighty stream. In Budapest it takes center stage. There are several islands in the river and five important bridges. The Germans blew up every one of them, but they have all been rebuilt. The most famous and a landmark of the city is the Chain Bridge. It is an imposing span.

Budapest II

Budapest is said to be one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. Everyone I know who has been there has waxed ecstatic about the place. Add me to the list. If you appreciate interesting architecture there are few cities to match the Hungarian metropolis in magnificence. You cannot walk down a street without coming across stellar examples of Belle Époque, neo-Renaissance and especially Art Nouveau styles. It seems that the entire city was rebuilt in the late 19th century. And indeed it was. The Golden Age began with the creation of the Dual Monarchy with Vienna and Budapest as co-capitals in 1875 and continued unabated until the First World War. Not only are there numerous public buildings to gawk at, but seemingly endless streets of gorgeous residential buildings. Of course some are neglected and crumbling quietly away, but very many have been taken care of. Considering the ravages of WW II and the '56 Revolution, Budapest is in surprisingly good shape. They might do a little better at trash pick-up, though. And some of the parks were in a sorry state, but those are minor quibbles about this great city. The photos show the famed Gresham Palace, originally built by a British insurance firm as an office building. In the Soviet era it fell into disrepair but has now been restored to its former glory by the Four Seasons hotel. It's a real stunner.

Budapest

With no one signed up for Friday afternoon and fine weather predicted I decided that this would be the weekend to go to Budapest. At the last minute my British colleague and friend Penny Johnson decided to join me. The train journey east takes about six hours. There are two possible routes to take: either through Vienna or crossing into Hungary directly east from Graz. I assumed (wrongly) that the latter would be quicker. Our train turned out to be something of a local, stopping in nearly every station along the way. No matter -- we weren't in a hurry and the turnip express afforded us the opportunity to see more of the country. The train didn't go northeast as we anticipated, but it zigzagged from one town to another. Eastern Austria is quite pretty with rolling hills, the end of the Alps, and prosperous villages. We watched for the border crossing, but there was virtually no trace of what had once been the fiercely guarded Iron Curtain. Things in Hungary looked like (in Penny's words) they needed a bit of TLC. The terrain in Hungary flattens out. The area is surprisingly sparsely populated. The vast expanse of nearly featureless farm land looked like what you might see in rural Illinois or Nebraska, that is until the train stops in a place like Nagytétényiszemlöhegy (I made that up) and you know you're not approaching Omaha. We got stuck in one station for a long time. Announcements were given repeatedly over the loudspeakers, but since they were in Hungarian we had no way of knowing what was going on. Perhaps it was something like: This train will be running off a cliff after leaving the station. Have a nice trip and thank you for traveling with Magyar Rail. It turned out to be a malfunctioning engine. Once that was fixed we were on our way. It was blazing hot and the train was not air conditioned (very little is in Europe). We arrived at Budapest Keletli Station an hour and a half late and somewhat fried. The first thing that hit my eye upon leaving the station was a huge sign for Burger King. Good grief -- is there no escaping American culture? After sorting out our hotels (both relatively new and quite nice) we stumbled upon a street that had something like 45 restaurants, all with outside seating. We found something to our liking and had a fabulous dinner among the Magyars.

Schloss Eggenberg

Sunday evening. The days festivities continued with everyone piling into two huge buses and heading out to the Baroque Eggenberg Palace. We are there at the official invitation of the Governor of the Steiermark and we have the place to ourselves. I participated in this special event last year. Eggenberg is still enchanting. The weather was perfect: cool and no rain. It is a formal affair and everyone dresses up in their best finery. After admiring the inner courtyard whilst being serenaded by a brass ensemble playing Renaissance tunes we moved into the Planetensaal, a stunning Baroque period room. An ensemble played (magnificently) a movement from the Schubert Octet and the chorus again sang a few numbers. After that there was a light supper of open sandwiches and drinks. It was a delightful evening. The photos show the inner courtyard of the Schloss and myself together with my friend, the conductor Wei-zhi Wang. Behind us part of the Planetensaal is visible.

Die festliche Eröffnung

Sunday. This morning we enjoyed the Festliche Eröffnung, the Convocation of the AIMS program which is celebrating its 39th year in Graz. The Convocation took place in the Aula of the Karl-Franzens-Universität. There were the de rigeur speeches (mercifully short) by the Rector of the university, the Director of Aims, a Representative from the Styrian Assembly and an attaché from the American embassy. Between all that we heard the orchestra playing the first movement of Händel's "Watermusic", a Suite from "Daphnis and Chloe" by Ravel and, at the very end of the program, the "Donner and Blitzen Polka" of Johann Strauss. The chorus sang "Von hohem Dachstein", a Styrian folk-song, as well as the American and Austrian national anthems. It was a lovely program. Looming over the orchestra in imposing splendor is a statue of his Majesty Emperor Franz I. I assume they named the university after him. Some people are not content with just a plaque.

Villas in Graz

I have mentioned on occasion how much I love the neighborhood behind the Studentenheim in which we live. It is one of the nicest residential areas in town. Here are a few pics of these venerable manses. Many are still private homes, but some have been converted into offices. Who can afford the upkeep on houses this big? My colleagues Karen ( a stage director) and Penny (one of the German Diction coaches) adorn the photos.

Im Kino

What to do on a rainy Saturday? Why, go to the movies, of course! Two colleagues and I set off for Graz's one multiplex on Saturday afternoon to catch a showing of "Harry Potter und der Halbblutprinz". I would have preferred to see it with the original soundtrack, but that wasn't possible (only one showing and that is at 11 PM). Okay, it's not Shakespeare, but when you know what the actors actually sound like (the voices of the unmistakable Alan Rickman or Maggie Smith, for example) it is a bit irritating to hear some totally different voice come out of their mouths, not to mention the fact that they would be speaking in German! Whatever. It's all about the special effects anyway. I haven't been to the cinema in Europe for decades and forgot what a totally different cultural experience it is. First of all, there are various ticket prices according to where you sit (middle of the theater being the most expensive) and the seats are assigned. How ridiculous is that?! I said to my friend Penny that I thought that was sooo European. No, she said, it was sooo Germanic. There is also a surcharge of one euro if the film is unusually long. Needless to say, with all these options just buying your ticket can take a while. Every film has a fifteen minute intermission. They just stop the film wherever and off you go the restroom or to replenish popcorn. The Cineplexx (as it is called here) was built on the edge of town, at the end of a tram line, in a not very attractive district. It not only houses a multiple screen movie house, but several restaurants and a lovely cafe as well. All of them have table service. There is no on-the-run junk food here. It is all very civilized. (Popcorn, candy and soda are available in the theater itself, of course -- but they're not food!) The complex itself was not very well designed; restrooms were off in some obscure corner and the lobby was too small to accommodate the number of people in the theaters. I may rail against the impersonal, charmless atmosphere of American movie houses these days, but they really are well planned. After the film we treated ourselves to a feast in the Chinese/Japanese restaurant next door. It was some of the best oriental food I've had anywhere. It was a fun afternoon.

La vie grazienne

The first full week of teaching has already slipped by in a blur. We had a spell of fine summer weather in Graz, though it was a bit on the warm side. I had tentatively planned a day trip to Maribor for Saturday but rain was assured for the entire area. Slovenia will have to wait for another time.
On Monday (it seems like a month ago) the faculty recital took place in the Sankt Leonhard Pfarrsaal. Some months ago I had the idea of preparing something from the piano four-hand repertoire for this program and solicited the collaboration of one of my fine keyboard colleagues. I chose the Schubert Rondo in A Major, Op. 107 because I love the piece and it is rarely heard. I thought it would add something really special to the program. Mission accomplished. It was the only instrumental work in a marathon evening of singing. The Rondo is from 1827, written in the last year of Schubert's life, that astonishing period where one masterpiece after another flowed from the composer's pen. It exudes that sweetness and irresistible charm that we cherish so much in Schubert's music. If I do say so myself, we acquitted ourselves well. My favorite comment on the performance was: The Rondo was so beautiful I didn't want it to end. My vocal colleagues presented an entertaining array of songs and arias. The concert ended with a light-hearted spoof, à la Victor Borge, of a Rossini overture for piano six-hands.
La vie grazienne. The students, for the most part, have avoided signing up for anything on Fridays. They probably have visions of weekend excursions dancing in their heads, and I don't blame them. After lunch at the Mensa on Friday I and two colleagues betook ourselves to a nearby cafe in the Universitätsviertel (actually in the Schubertstrasse!) for coffee and cake. It was a sweet, lazy summer afternoon. What a pleasure it was to sit outside on a shady terrace, surrounded by beautiful buildings on a quiet street, in the company of colleagues, discussing music and life under the silky blue sky. One of the things we love most about living in Graz is the unhurried pace of life here. In the evening some of the faculty were invited to a wine tasting at the flat of one of the program's wealthy supporters. They live in one of those sturdy well-kept apartment buildings from circa 1880 that boast fifteen foot ceilings and parquet floors. We admired their gorgeous antique furniture, including a Biedermeier writing desk that could have come out of Schubert's own study. There were a few Klimt pencil sketches hanging in the foyer. Afterwards a colleague and I went to a kind of beer garden in the University district to enjoy a light repast. From the street one would have no idea that there was such an extensive open-air area in the back of this eatery. It was packed with university students, all having a great time, but still well mannered. This is something we don't have in our fast food culture, the tradition of bonding with friends over a few glasses of beer, enjoying a leisurely evening in congenial company. We are too busy devouring huge portions of restaurant food, more than anyone needs, or zipping through the take out line at Wendy's.
I knew that Hugo Wolf had spent one term at a Gymnasium in Graz. He didn't like the school and left to go on the Vienna where he enrolled in the Conservatory. Gustav Mahler was his room-mate. I knew that the school was somewhere near the Mensa but I couldn't locate it last summer. The other day I stumbled across it by accident. The plaque on the building was the clue. By some wild coincidence (!) it was in the Hugo-Wolf-Strasse. Duh!!

Living History

One the way over to Europe I read a book about the late Hapsburg Empire, "A Nervous Splendor" by Frederic Morton. It is one of the best known works of popular history concerning the period. (I didn't particularly care for the author's writing style, but that's another story.) The book covered the years 1888-89, culminating with the suicide of Crown Prince Rudolf at the end of January in 1889. That was a tragic and traumatic event in Hapsburg history only to be overshadowed by the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo in 1914, an event which precipitated the beginning of the Great War and the subsequent dissolution of the Empire altogether. The author portrayed the cultural and artistic life of the time in Vienna, weaving the activities of such people as Johannes Brahms, Anton Bruckner, Johann Strauss, Hugo Wolf, Gustav Mahler, Sigmund Freud, Arthur Schnitzler and Theodor Herzl into his story. All of these individuals were active in Vienna at that time. I knew of Rudolf's tragic suicide but I didn't know anything about him. The book filled in the blanks for me. Rudolf, handsome, dashing and beloved by his people, felt he was trapped in an unreal Viennese operetta scenario, with endless court duties to perform and no meaningful tasks. He was at heart a liberal, a reformer, but he had little opportunity to exert any influence. He felt that the Empire was doomed. He was, in effect, waiting for his father, the Emperor Franz Josef, to die. (That didn't happen, ironically, for another 27 years.) Rudolf saw no way out of his predicament. He made a death pact with a Baroness he was having an affair with and they blew their brains out in the royal hunting retreat at Mayerling.
The other day I was waiting in the foyer of the Odilien Institut, the school for the deaf and blind around the corner. We make use of their concert hall for auditions and concerts. On the wall of the foyer there was mounted a plaque that, in grandiose language, commemorated the visit of His Royal Highness the Grand Duke Crown Prince Rudolf and his wife the Grand Duchess Crown Princess Stephanie (who was a daughter of the King of Belgium, by the way) on the opening of the Institute in the year 1887. So, Rudolf had stood in the very same foyer, some 122 years before, in which I was standing. He probably hated being there, having to be pleasant and official at yet another meaningless event. "One of these days", he may have mused, "I'm going to take a gun and...."
I will probably continue to post during the summer, but perhaps once a week. Everyone has arrived (except the orchestra which gets in tomorrow). Classes begin tomorrow. This afternoon I took the tram out to the pilgrimage church of Maria Trost and walked back through the woods. Life in Graz is just peachy.

Last Hurrah in Toblach

The photo is the view from my window in the Hotel Rosengarten. I was a little sad to leave this beautiful place. The trip to Graz took exactly four hours, via Lienz, Villach and Klagenfurth. Most of it was on a fine autobahn. It was a rainy day (there have been very heavy rains in central Austria, especially around Salzburg for days now). Approaching the outskirts of Graz I had to drive through that unattractive part of town which every city has, industrial and commercial blight. Then I drove in circles for a while. It seems every other street is one way. I was a bit down when I finally got here: coping with city traffic after a week in the mountains is a bit hard. It was good to meet up with colleagues from last year. A group of us went out to dinner. Walking back home through the beautiful late 19th century streets of Graz in the twilight reminded me how special this city is.

Festlicher Umzug -- Parade

The parade in progress and a candid photo of some young guys in their Trachten after the parade. They are wearing heavy wool vests, leather pants and thick socks -- not the thing for a hot day!

Innichen/San Candido

Another fine summery day, my last in the Tyrol. It is to be a walking day. I am told that the path to the next town due east, Innichen, is a nice walk. It's about six km each way. By a happy coincidence, something I couldn't have planned better, the three day Volksfest winds up today in Innichen. That means there will be a carnival atmosphere, lots of music and, to top things off, a Grosser Festumzug, a big parade. Oh boy! There are two foot paths to Innichen, one on either side of the valley. The one I take in the morning starts in Toblach and ascends an asphalted but little used road. Much of the way is forested. There are a few working dairy farms along the way and some lovely old alpine houses. Innichen is the last big town in Italy before the Austrian border. It's bigger than Toblach and quite attractive. There are two old churches, one behind the other: a Romanesque church (12th century) and an exquisite Baroque one. The former is well-preserved and it is dedicated to Saint Candidus, whence the Italian name for the town. Innichen is jammed with people. There are six different venues where various musical groups are playing. Booths are set up to sell all kinds of food and drink. Everyone is out for a good time. The weather is perfect. What a great day to be here! The parade starts at 11:30. It's the battle of the marching bands, about a dozen groups, all in Tracht (regional costume) and a few modest and amusing floats. There are a lot of Italians here -- I guess they enjoy a 'spettacolo' as much as anyone -- although there is a definite German tone to the event. The music, the gorgeous costumes, the mountains, the genuine good spirits of the people all blow me away. Who woulda thunk that oom-pah music could bring me to tears? When the parade is over it's back to eating and drinking. I try a local specialty called 'Strauben' which is a sweet batter drizzled into hot oil to create a twirled mess of fried dough. It is topped with powdered sugar and Preiselbeeren, something akin to our cranberries but more delicate. Strauben is delicious. Again and again I hear the performers sing: "Mein Tirolerland, wie bist du schön!" -- My Tyroler homeland, how beautiful you are! I'll drink to that!
The way back is also partially through woods. It's a good thing because I've had too much sun. About half way one comes across the Drau-Ursprung/Sorgenti di Drava = the source of the Drau River. It begins from a modest spring and flows east througn Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia where it joins with the Danube to eventually flow into the Black Sea. Such a modest beginning and such a long path. My week in the Tyrol has gone by very quickly. I have had a wonderful time here and hope to return for more glorious hiking in future. One photo shows the front of the Baroque church, the other both churches and the main square before the parade. The third photo is of the lovely organ loft in the Romanesque San Candido. I am not sure, but I would venture to guess that one church serves the Italian speaking population and the other the German.

Meran/Merano

Meran/Merano. It promised to be a fine day. Ready to explore the Tyrol a bit more extensively, I headed west to Meran. I retraced the route I took to get here but instead of turning north to the Brenner Pass I continued on a bit and then south over the Jaufenpass. This is a high alpine road, closed in winter, that reaches an elevation of 2,100 meters. Meran is actually due west of the Pustertal, but since there is a mountain range inbetween you have to go around it either to the north or to the south. The Jaufenpass road was narrow and serpentine, another test of my stick shift driving skills. It was really hard driving. Although the scenery was spectacular I had to ask myself more than once why I was putting myself through this driving feat. The road from the pass descends gradually into Meran, one of the most famous resort towns in the Alps. It has long been particularly beloved by the Germans and they have been coming here for many decades. Meran has a fine natural setting with an amphitheater of mountains on three sides, opening to the south. This particular geographic arrangement means that the climate is milder and sunnier than most other places in the Tyrol. The town boasts a lovely broad promenade along the river. The old Kurhaus (see photo) is well maintained as are the splendid flower displays -- and a number of interesting topiaries. The town has accomodated the needs of modern visitors with some attractive new buildings. The old town with its narrow streets is still intact, built around a venerable gothic cathedral. It is a beautiful place, but not where I would want to spend a holiday. It was crowded with people and it was really hot (low 90's I'd say), too hot to stay out for long. I yearned for the cooler climes of the Pustertal and the more relaxed ways of Toblach. I returned via the southern route, bypassing Bozen/Bolzano. Some of this road is an autostrada (freeway). I got back in two hours. Today was the fourth of July, but who noticed?

Villa Mahler

Dear Reader, if you have been reading my blogs attentively (there will be a test afterwards), you will remember that I mentioned that the great Austrian composer Gustav Mahler spent a few summers in Toblach. It turned out to be the last three summers of his life, 1908-10. He wrote his Ninth Symphony and the uncompleted Tenth here, as well as that stupendous song cycle "Das Lied von der Erde". Interestingly, the later work uses Chinese poetry (translated into German by Hans Bethge). But these are the alpine views he saw every day which inspired him to write his magnificent music. You may remember that the last song, "Abschied" (which lasts a half hour) is a leave-taking from the earth and its beauties. Mahler was very ill at that time and knew his days were numbered. So, it was particularly touching for me to stop by the Mahler Villa and see the house where he lived (it's actually a few kilometers outside of the town). The downstairs now houses a restaurant; I had lunch there: Polenta with Pfifferlinge (wild mushrooms). Delizioso! There is a commemorative plaque on the outside of the house (see photo). Toblach milks the Mahler association for all it's worth. There is a major Mahler festival here every summer and a nice statue to the composer in the town square. Lucky Toblach. A genius lived here.

Blumenpracht -- Verdi prati con fiori

Pragser Wildsee/Lago di Braies.

A few days ago, when I originally posted these pics, the Toblach library computer would not let me add the text to go with them. So, here goes:

Just when I thought I would be banished from High Alpine World (soon to be a Disney theme park) I found out that, just in the next valley to the west, there is a road that ascends the mountains to a height of 2,000 meters. That's as high as I was at the Sarlriedl. It's in a large nature park area, the Parco Naturale Fanes-Senes-Braies. The way up starts at the Pragser Wildsee, yet another emerald jewel of a lake nestled among the peaks. There is a small entry fee to pay with parking at the top of the mountain. I'm thrilled that it is so easy to get to a high alpine hiking area, but the downside is that I have to share it with hundreds of other hikers and bikers. I was a bit horrified at first as hikers were disgorged by the busload in the parking lot at the Plätzwiese/Prato Piazza. But the crowds soon dispersed. On my Tuesday hike I met no more than five other hikers and had the whole mountain almost to myself. The intensity of the solitude up there and of the wind whistling down from the imposing peaks is a unique experience. No matter, I was on my merry way on a hiking path that afforded ups and downs I could handle. It was glorious. Words fail me. It was the hike I dreamed of, an awesome array of ragged peaks and meadows carpeted with wild flowers, the air so pure and sweet it almost sears your lungs. Ahhhhhh, la natura!! I started fairly early as I knew that it would cloud over by midday (which it did).
There are lots of bikers. In the valleys they seem to run in herds, always racing at top speed, stopping for nothing. They seem not to see or enjoy anything along the way; the goal is to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. Their behavior mystifies me completely. On the mountain paths you see a different species of bikers (bi-cyclus masochistus) huffing and puffing non stop up the steepest slopes. What is the pleasure in that? I don't get it.

Auf dem Sarlriedl

This is a pic I meant to include with a previous post. Remember that you can enlarge photos by clicking on them.

Babel

Toblach; Thursday. Thunderstorms were in the offing for the afternoon today and besides that I am even more sore today than I was yesterday. When I was in my late twenties I went treking in the Himalayas. At that time I carried a full backpack and did a hike about as difficult every day of the trek (about ten days) as I did up to the Sarlriedl. You couldn't get me to undertake again what I did the other day with a gun barrel jammed between my shoulders. No way. I am a bit disappointed because the reward, namely spending some time in the unique high alpine milieu, is worth the effort. I guess I will have to rely on cable cars like every other person of modest capabilities or out of shape/unmotivated tourists. Sigh.
I took care of small matters this moring, checking out the quite lovely town of Toblach. My main quest was for an internet connection so that I could post my blogs. The small public library came to the rescue. While I was working at one of their (two) computers I overheard a woman reading a story to a young girl in Italian. It was so cute -- especially the girl's comments. (If she can speak Italian that well, why can't I?) The pic of the day is of the main street of the town. I was in a store and momentarily forgot where I was. When I stepped out this view took my breath away.
The deal here in the Hotel Rosengarten includes a fabulous breakfast and a really superb multi-course dinner (and they are happy to accomodate my dietary needs too). The beer and the local wines are all wonderful. There is a veritable babel of languages to be heard amongst the guests: mostly German, some Italian, Dutch, Norwegian, French, Irish English, etc. I'll bet that I am one of the few Americans to have ever stayed here. At the table next to mine there is a very friendly and energetic German lady (retired/widowed) who is here for three weeks. She is really fit, walks and bikes long distances. It's nice to have somebody to converse with, to share common enthusiams about the area, and compare notes with over dinner. She is yet another European who is THRILLED that Barak Obama is the President of the USA. All I can say is: Amen to that!

As I have mentioned before, the South Tyrol belonged to either the Bavarian or Hapsburg realms for centuries. It was only after the First WW that the area was given to Italy as a prize. At that time it was 90% German speaking. That was (and still is) one of the great injustices of European history. The Italians behaved very badly since then with a program of ethnic cleansing and suppression of German language and culture. There was a period of unrest with acts of sabotage against the Italian State. Many Tyroleans left but they are still 70% majority in this area. In recent years they have gained a status of political and cultural autonomy, though still part of Italy. And that is why all signs are bi-lingual. In the main square there is an info kiosk which includes a brief history of the S. Tyrol. It very conveniently glosses over the sticky period of the Italian take-over. The Tyroleans seem to be content with the arrangement now and are glad to have German-speaking guests. Ironically, both Austria and Italy have embraced the currency of the Euro, so a major aspect of division has been wiped away. Call me a rabble-rouser, but I would like to give a shout-out to Tyrolean self-determination: Freiheit für Süd Tirol!!! (I'm always a supporter of the underdog.)
In the area just south of Toblach, around Cortina d'Ampezzo, signs are also bi-lingual. These are not Italian/German, but Italian/Ladin. The latter is a language that is a corrupted form of Latin left over from the days of the Roman Empire, a language that has survived for 15 centuries in this mountainous region. (Switzerland has a similar phenomenon with Romansch, the official fourth language of that country.) Ladin is virtually incomprehensible to Italian speakers. The goulash of languages in the alpine regions is fascinating.

Vicenza

Vicenza. Hiking was out of the question today. I woke up quite sore from yesterday's trek. Instead, I headed south into Italy. Actually, I am already in Italy but it doesn't seem like it because everybody speaks German here. I chose the old town of Vicenza as my goal, just west of Venice. The road south from Toblach heads directly south to Cortina d'Ampezzo, a posh ski resort town. (I think the Olympic Games once took place here.) Cortina is too much of an overbuilt alpine resort town, but the setting is magnificent. The mountains go on for a really long time. The distance from Toblach to Vicenza is about 200 kilometers. I thought I could do it in two and a half hours but it took four. I didn't reckon with thick traffic, stop lights, road repair work and going off course a bit. Vicenza is the town of Andrea Palladio, the architect who resurrected the Classical style in the 16th century. There are a number of Palazzos in the town by him and a few mansions outside. The famed Villa Rotunda is in every art history book. But the real treasure is the Teatro Olimpico, opened in 1585. It is a unique Renaissance theater, still in use today. There is a permanent stage set that compliments any Classical drama. ("Death of a Salesman" wouldn't work here, I don't think). I have seen a clip on youtube of a concert with Cecilia Bartolli in that theater. Vicenza a lovely old town, very Italian and very charming. Aside from the great scenery, some of the towns I passed through on the way were something less than charming -- more like haphazard. There is a lot of industrial and commercial sprawl in the flatland. But still, it doesn't compete in ugliness with the sprawl outside any American city.

Lausanne to Toblach

The Tyrol. When I left Lausanne by train in the morning there were cloudless skies and the mountains shimmered in the early light. The train to Zurich follows the lake for a bit, climbing ever higher, then it veers off to the north. The last glimpse of the lake surrounded by high peaks in their early morning splendor was breathtaking. How could any place on earth be so ineffably beautiful? Sometimes Switzerland seems like a postcard -- it's too perfect to be real. The train, a double decker, was packed to the rafters. And there are several trains headed this way every hour. The Swiss are on the move. In Zurich I changed to a train headed east. This was the Basel/Vienna express. It traverses valleys surrounded by high mountains. In Austria the valley becomes rather narrow. The landscape there is not what I would call pretty; it is rather raw and oppressive. The predominant stone is a grey/brown which gives the mountains a dirty look. I would feel claustrophobic if I had to live in that valley. The route I took today was pretty much the same I traversed a year ago by car from Lausanne to Graz. Train travel certainly has its advantages.
I had this day planned out months ago. Arriving in Innsbruck I put my luggage in storage then walked through the city to the car rental place. Once again mapquest.com was off the mark. The rental place was much further away than the map indicated. But no problem, I needed the exercise. I had been to Innsbruck once before, some 43 years ago, in the winter. The most remarkable feature about the place is its setting in the middle of the Alps. (It is the capital city of the province of Tyrol, after all!) What I experienced of the historic center this time was quite nice. There is even a Hofburg (like Vienna) and a gorgeous park nearby. Picking up a car in a foreign country is a bit of a nerve-wracking experience. Last summer was my trial by fire. My stick shift skills came back immediately (and I refer you, dear reader, to my account of driving across the Furka Pass last summer). Still, Europeans do drive differently and it takes some getting used to. After driving around in circles trying to find the train station again I picked up my luggage and was off, headed south for the fabled Brenner Pass. Descending into Italy I turned east again on the road towards Toblach. This valley is called the Pusterthal or the Via Pusteria. I turned on a local radio station, one that was playing requests for Tyrolean folk music. Somehow the yodeling, zithers, brass and choral singing fit the landscape perfectly. By now the late afternoon sun was shining on the ragged peaks of the Dolomites. Emerald green lakes dotted the valleys. Hearing the locals play and sing their hearts out to the beauties of their Heimat made me more than a little verklemmt. It was sooo byoodiful.

To the Sarlriedl and back. Barely. The day promised to be decent weatherwise, so I set out on a hike. There are so many options here one could become paralyzed with indecision. I decided to head towards the Tolbachersee/Lago di Dobbiaco as I had not yet been there. It is an emerald jewel (see photos). Unfortunately, one part of it is given over to restaurants and a camping park. I opted to hike up to the Sarlriedl. The map said it was a 4 and 1/2 hour hike. I can do that, I thought. If I had looked at the map more closely I would have seen that it climbs to over 2,000 meters (about 7,200 feet). The first part was a very steep climb right up the mountain. I was huffing and puffing and sweating gallons, but I forged ahead. By the time I reached the top I was totally exhausted. The saddle between two mountains is mostly meadowland. It is a world unto itself: completely silent, awesome. (See photos of the high meadows: the small hut is there for hikers.) About two thirds of the way up I came across a 'Hochalm' (alpine meadow). There was a charming alpine chalet there. A small herd of contented cows grazed in the meadows that were chock full of wild flowers. There was also a small flock of chickens in the yard of the chalet. The farmer was around. When I stopped to admire the view (spectacular) he came over and we had a nice chat. I said something like: Schön haben sie's hier! (nice place ya got here!) He said he stays up only from May to September. When the first snow starts he leaves. There was a four-wheel drive vehicle parked in the yard. I found it unbelieveable that he could actually drive up or down the incline I just traversed,and that the cows would actually walk down that steep path. But I guess they do.
If I thought going up was tiring, the downward hike was even more so. Part of it was through an area of scree (gravel), where you couldn't be sure if your footing would hold or if you'd go flying off into the ether (nice views on the way down, though). After an hour or so my legs were like jello. I was at the end of my energy, but I had to go on. Spending a night on a mountain was no option. I thought the downward slope would never end. This part of the trail was supposed to bring me to the village, but I had left my car parked near the lake, about five kilometers down the road. How would I get there? I could hardly walk. I took a gamble and went off on a side trail, hoping it would bring me closer to the lake. What great fortune that, when I finally reached bottom, the trail came out exactly at the place where my car was parked. I thanked every deity in the universe for that. I could not have walked another step. I did too much. Once more I am faced with the reality that I am not 20 years old anymore. The hike was worth it, but I won't undertake anything like it soon again. (But I must have burned off 5,000 calories!)