Lesson #3 Why I love it here
Am already behind with this thing, but since that’s fairly characteristic of me as regards communications of any kind, I expect it’s expected. Suffice it to say that the week before last family arrived for a few days, and I was too busy showing them the sights to post. In a more honest version of events, I would say that they showed me the sights! Put Hanlons in a car and they seem to have an uncanny knack of finding stunning mountain views at every turn. Or perhaps it’s because Austria is built out of such views?
One deserves special mention though. On Saturday we went up one of the higher moutains by means of a chair-lift, which with true environmental sensibilities gives a remarkably convincing impression of being shut until you’ve stood looking at it for a bit, at which point a friendly young man pops out to set it going for you. Anyway, we set off up this in dubious-looking weather, and were chased off at the top by rain. But being Hanlons we weren’t about to allow the weather to get in the way of a walk, so after Kasetoast and Wurstl we turned our faces - or at least our boots - upwards (incidentally, someone needs to help me convince the Austrians that they have their condiments the wrong way round. Ketchup goes with sausage and mustard goes with cheese toasties - it just doesn’t work the other way).
Once we got higher the clouds cleared and when we turned round, there it was. Valleys and pine trees and hidden moutain-top greens, villages and sunspots and winding roads, clouds, mist and menace and towering rock, with sun rays and rain jostling each other on every peak… It made me cry, simply out of desperation for a strong enough response.
Sitting on the top, eating Milka chocolate and Lebkuchen, Dad and I consider the possibilities of getting from where we were to the jagged ridge beyond and so right into this large-as-life landscape for adventure. But it’s enough just knowing it’s there. Something so big should stay out of reach, for fear that by grasping it we squeeze it small and manageable.
One deserves special mention though. On Saturday we went up one of the higher moutains by means of a chair-lift, which with true environmental sensibilities gives a remarkably convincing impression of being shut until you’ve stood looking at it for a bit, at which point a friendly young man pops out to set it going for you. Anyway, we set off up this in dubious-looking weather, and were chased off at the top by rain. But being Hanlons we weren’t about to allow the weather to get in the way of a walk, so after Kasetoast and Wurstl we turned our faces - or at least our boots - upwards (incidentally, someone needs to help me convince the Austrians that they have their condiments the wrong way round. Ketchup goes with sausage and mustard goes with cheese toasties - it just doesn’t work the other way).
Once we got higher the clouds cleared and when we turned round, there it was. Valleys and pine trees and hidden moutain-top greens, villages and sunspots and winding roads, clouds, mist and menace and towering rock, with sun rays and rain jostling each other on every peak… It made me cry, simply out of desperation for a strong enough response.
Sitting on the top, eating Milka chocolate and Lebkuchen, Dad and I consider the possibilities of getting from where we were to the jagged ridge beyond and so right into this large-as-life landscape for adventure. But it’s enough just knowing it’s there. Something so big should stay out of reach, for fear that by grasping it we squeeze it small and manageable.
posted by Little Fi | 12:51 AM
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