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!)