The Fairy Tale Life

If any one place could complete my detachment from reality on this trip, it was the quiet mountains of Austria. After driving most of the day, we arrived at our hotel, a great big farmhouse nestled in a lush green valley. It was a little odd having venison for dinner and then strolling around later to find the deer grazing in the field nearby.

Our evening card games continued. Chris Two, Natalie, Kyle and I battled houseflies in the hotel barroom during our heated spades tournament. But I had to be up early for the walk back across the nearby Germany border and then through der Schwarzwald, the mysterious Black Forest in which practically every fairy tale I know took place.

I didn’t see any gnomes, trolls or witches, but I saw where they picnic on weekends: A stunning blue-green lake beckoned to me through the trees below our mountain trail. The water was eerily aglow thanks to what I later learned was rock flour, rock crushed up by the ice from nearby melting glaciers.

While I was admiring nature, it was right about then that nature gave me a call. I slowed my pace with the intention of falling slightly behind the group so as to answer the phone in private. Fellow hiker Cathy mistook my slow gait for weariness, and she kindly slowed down to match my pace and chat. Eventually, Angie distracted Cathy, and they walked on as I stopped to “tie my shoe.”

My Dream House

Just when I thought the trees could be no taller and the forest no darker, sunlight poured in from a clearing ahead; we had reached the castles of Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein.

And joy filled my heart.

Along with the Roman Colosseum, Castle Neuschwanstein was high atop the list of fascinating places I’d wanted to see since childhood. I’d rummaged through used book sales after planning this trip, picking up 10-cent treasures such as Neuschwanstein Castle — Official Guide 1977 and King Ludwig II: His Life, His End. I knew full well the many versions of the stories surrounding the supposedly “mad” Bavarian king and his fervent hobbies of riding horses and building castles (instead of leading his country). Seventeen years he had spent building Neuschwanstein, only to live in it for six months before drowning in a lake under mysterious circumstances. And now, after years of seeing the castle in jigsaw puzzles, books and posters, I was at long last actually there myself.

On the frighteningly high bridge overlooking the castle, Angie tried out her nascent Japanese language skills with two tourists who were fumbling with their camera.

“Issho ni shashin o shimashita ka?” Angie asked with a small polite bow, asking them if they’d like her to snap their photo together, using their own camera. They graciously accepted and smiled for their scrapbook snapshot. It wasn’t until hours later, back at the hotel, that we realized Angie had actually asked, “Didn’t all of us once take a photograph together?” So we still need a little language practice before we leave for Japan in a month.

Mind Those Hairpin Turns

Tour guide Ragen was in charge of food selection for our group picnic on the side of the mountain; therefore, it is Ragen I blame for trying to expand my local culinary experience with such horrors as head cheese and liverwurst, which I found I absolutely detest. Luckily, there was delicious Nutella and red wine -hic- to smooth things over.

During the picnic, I attempted to entertain everyone with my not-yet world famous trick of tossing grapes half a mile in the air and catching them in my mouth. I think the red wine may have adversely affected my skills, though, because I was only catching about half of them.

We walked over to the nearby mountain luge ride, made all the more fun by each person’s ability to control the speed of their luge cart. Angie acted the part of our gruff squad leader, playfully egging on people in front of our group to “go faster!” and “get the lead out!” to make way for our lightning-speed descents. After a timid practice run, we were all flying down the track at breakneck speeds, shrieking and shouting all the way down from the top.

Two Wheels are Better Than One

Back at the hotel, I lazed about the farm, visiting the horses and trying (in vain) to ride a unicycle around the playground. A late afternoon bike ride with Walt, Jayne and Natalie took us to the next village, St. Hubertus, before a light rain sent us scurrying back. My last evening in Austria was spent hanging laundry outdoors on the clothesline, sitting on the swingset, and losing at a dice game called “Oops!”

Of all the places I’d been so far on the trip, I thought I would miss Austria the most.