Not long after tramp1 left to return to the cold and rainy weather of the Hague, it was time for the second session of the summer Schubertiade to begin. The tramp and I had originally planned to be in Italy by this time but had been persuaded by the friends who introduced us to the Schubertiade last year to return when they were. The first session had been so outstanding, the walking so wonderful and the weather, on the whole, so fine that it didn’t take much to do the trick: master classes with Peter Schreier, a few concerts by Goerne, Lott and Bostridge and we had decided to stay. Now the event was upon us and logistics loomed large: how could we maintain our compelling hiking and gym routines with Peter Schreier master classes every day from 10am – 2pm? (as it turned out he decided that 10am-1pm was adequate – it is amazing how much of a difference that hour made!), concerts in the evening, and the need to meet up with our friends? Our perfect schedule was being eroded, not to say downright destroyed, by one of the main purposes of our wandering life. But the challenge of life, as always, is to reconcile the irreconcilable.
The first week was not too taxing (since the master classes didn’t begin until the second) and even though lunches were often very late (I do call 4pm late) on hiking days, on gym days they were at a quite reasonable time (if one considers, and many let’s face it wouldn’t, 2pm reasonable). This meant, of course, that inviting our friends to lunch at the WLW (which we clearly had to do since the husband was desperate to inspect the WLW and the wife was more than a tad curious) would require the date to be a gym day. No one, not even the tramp, would reasonably expect other people to fit into our unreasonable schedule! As it transpired our friends were following a not totally dissimilar approach and often having late lunches or early suppers. We decided on 1pm on the day of the Felicity Lott concert (which was at 4pm). They could come dressed for the concert and we could all leave directly after lunch, and if we had supper with FL after the concert, an irresistible prospect, well, at least it wouldn’t finish at midnight!
The WLW can seat 4 at the (extendable) dining room table and the tramp, afraid that it would be impossible to eat al fresco (as we do every meal) if the weather was foul (which it is every third day), duly experimented with extending the table and swivelling the driver’s seat around. We have never had to do these things as social life in the WLW has been non-existent (though social life outside has been more than satisfactory). The tramp had no difficulty with the table. It extended quite easily and he was feeling quite confident. The driver’s seat on the other hand proved quite challenging, not to say impossible: the steering wheel kept getting in the way. The manual offered no solution. Clearly the steering wheel could not be removed without prejudicing the real purpose of the WLW. A quick call to the factory and the problem was solved (a bit like moving the goose, the fox and whatever the other animal was on a raft that only held two, it required several manoeuvres which were not obvious but which cumulatively worked). Of course, the ever sensitive tramp then became worried about the placement since it was clear that certain positions were better than others and at the same time the trampess had to be near the kitchen (without having to climb over one of the guests). By now you will have concluded that between the tramp’s great logistical brain and the trampess’s blondeness, even that worrisome problem was solved, and a placement agreed.
As it happened,God was on our side the day of the lunch, and the formidable due diligence exercised by the tramp the previous afternoon was not needed: the sun was glorious and al fresco dining was on the cards. Except of course for the problem of seating. While we have two wonderful, comfortable chairs which would clearly go to the guests and two stools comfortable enough for us (which have lids that convert them into side tables), it became clear to the tramp that the two stools would have to be used as side tables as there simply wasn’t enough room on the table for four place settings and food. It would be unthinkable to eliminate either. It was also clearly unacceptable, according to the tramp, to keep the food in the kitchen and have the trampess running in and out. What to do? The trampess broke off from her food preparation and dashed in to Frau Albrecht (she who solves all problems) and asked to borrow two chairs. Not a problem. The trampess carried two wooden chairs from the camper’s breakfast room to the WLW. A bit later Frau Albrecht turned up with two garden chairs with cushions – even better. The tramp returned the wooden chairs and the trampess continued to prepare lunch.
The tramp had approved the menu (tramp1’s favourite chicken dish, ratatouille, and lentils with garlic and ginger, with Stippmilch and rote Gruetze for pudding), but now he was beginning to panic: shouldn’t there be a first course? Our guests always had a big salad at their hotel before dinner; shouldn’t we have salad as a starter? And what plates would we use for each course? The tramp insisted that one could not have the salad on the dinner plate. The trampess, now moving into high gear (and not even dressed yet!), replied we would use small plates for salad, dinner plates for lunch, and porridge bowls for pudding, but we could not have separate forks for the salad unless we washed forks in between courses. Also, despite all efforts to find additional wine glasses the previous day (wine glasses could be found but none that matched the existing or, indeed, more importantly, could be stored safely in the WLW), none were found. The tramp agreed that the guests would have the 2 glasses we had and the trampess would use a second small water glass. The tramp set a perfect table - nearly there!
The guests arrived on time and as the trampess dressed the salad the tramp took them on a tour of the WLW. Now you might think that a tour of a vehicle 7.5m long and 2 1/2m wide could not possibly take very long, but you would be wrong. Two self-confessed anoraks and a willing female can get quite absorbed in the how it works and where are all the water tanks, and how much do they hold, and how long does that sustain life (all of which is part of the external tour) before one even moves inside to the wow, a real bathroom, my goodness what a big bed, good heavens is that the guest bedroom, satellite television, no kidding stage. Notwithstanding, the trampess didn’t quite manage to change for lunch (ratatouille is too dangerous when washing and ironing are a major undertaking and dressing while the external tour was on was cutting it a bit fine – one never knows how long even anoraks will take and it isn’t as though the bathroom/dressing room is more than a few inches from the kitchen or for that matter the front/only door. Eventually, we sat down outside with our splendid views of meadow, chickens ranging freely, mountains and brook. The two wine glasses and extra water glass were quickly removed from the table as the friends have a no wine before 7pm policy. Having seen the kitchen, the friends were astonished with the variety of dishes the trampess was able to produce for one meal (it is an art learning to cook on 3 small burners – the constraint being less on the side of 3 and more on the side of small – especially for more than 2 people since the pots are small to match the burners; part of the solution, of course, was to make the ratatouille the day before and the rote Gruetze in the morning - before going to the gym but critically after breakfast when that pot was needed). The tramp winked at the trampess – a thumbs up for her culinary efforts. The trampess always loves a good wink. – especially when the pre-prandial angst is high. It seems that the rote Gruetze was particularly successful (the wife volunteered that her husband would do almost anything for cooked berries and that probably he wouldn’t want to leave – ever) - especially rewarding since the thought of making a nemesis in the rather primitive oven is not one the trampess has entertained (although this does seem rather wimpish since she remembers a perfect chocolate cake made by sherpas over an open fire when trekking in the Himalayas)!
When seconds on pudding were being willing accepted, the Gamin was brought out. The Gamin? Dear reader, you will remember one of the first adventures with the WLW was in Cologne, where the WLW had to be de-coupled from the Smart and abandoned owing to an illegally parked BMW blocking a one way street after which the tramp spent HOURS studying and buying a hand held GPS system for climbing the mountains in all of Europe. The interest in such a device came from the fellow anorak (hereinafter referred to as FA) now sitting at our lunch table. Oohs and aahs and how long does the battery last, do you have a full colour screen etc followed. The tramp confessed that actually he hadn’t learned how to use it yet. FA offered to take it away for the night, study the difference between his (an earlier model) and install the grid (installing the grid is apparently very important because while you would think that the Greenwich meridian was the starting point for all cartography it isn’t. Most countries in Europe have their own systems and this can be a nightmare if one doesn’t overlay the maps which had been uploaded with “the” grid), and then give the tramp a quick lesson in usage over dinner a few nights hence. The tramp was, needless to say, extremely grateful for the offer and immediately handed over a sack full of equipment and manuals. Meanwhile the trampess put on the espresso. After coffee and the ritual dark chocolate we all tumbled happily (well in the case of the trampess after a quick change, too) into our cars and drove off to hear the wonderful Lott. Supper followed at the Adler (all the best hotels in Germany and Austria are either called Hirsch or Adler; both exist in Schwarzenberg and both have excellent restaurants. Funny how no one ever calls an hotel Fisch or Maus.) and this time the meal began with a glass of champagne. One waits, and one is rewarded.
The following week was the challenging one: classes from morning to early afternoon and the occasional evening concert (perhaps more than occasional if the waitlist tickets came through) and the refusal to give up the hard physical exercise. The first thing that had to go, clearly, was a cooked lunch at any time a normal human being would call lunch time. At the same time, food was necessary. Not eating is no way to maintain the body or lose weight. And of course, one has to observe the rule: breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper (which in our case means no dinners after the evening concert – though clearly that rule was going to be broken with friends in town. Society corrupts and good society corrupts the most). Breakfasts became, if they were not already, very king like (no fish or game you understand but plenty of the rest). The tramp and trampess arrived at the morning master class fully sated and ready to learn vicariously through the students. At the 10 minute break, variously at 12 or 11:30, the tramp cried, “Nuts!” and the trampess dutifully reached into her bag and pulled out the morning’s ration. After silent munching, the tramp might make a few salient comments on the singing so far and Schreier’s approach to teaching before crying out again, “Chocolate??!” The trampess once again dived into the bag and pulled out pudding. When the class ended the tramps bolted for the door, jumped into the Smart and drove off – either to the mountains or to the gym. Often they did not arrive back until 4 or 5pm. At this point one could only hold on and have a proper meal at 6. Of course, it broke the rule of dining like a pauper but since dinner was followed by a concert and bed was inevitably 10 or 11, it did at least maintain the principle of not eating close to bedtime.
By the end of the week it was clear, though, that this was a very demanding schedule. The master classes were intense and even the evening concerts, which normally one would consider pure joy, were demanding since one needs to study and understand the text of the lieder (easier for the tramp than the trampess: Schwarzenberg is not Salzburg and the text provided in the programme was only in the original German. The trampess’s pocket dictionary does not extend to the poetic vocabulary of the average Schubert lied and while the better know cycles are well known to her, the lesser ones are not. I can assure you that most concerts this week were not well known cycles! With the exception of Pregardien singing Die Schoene Muellerin – an evening that was truly one of the most magnificent and shattered the tramp’s long held conviction that tenors could not sing lieder. Ian Bostridge helped in this regard, too). At the end of the week the tramp declared that perhaps one day a week should be a day of rest. A positively Biblical conclusion!
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Omnes viae Romam ducunt and the Others Lead to Baumgarten
After the departure of tramp1, the tramp concluded that his new breakfast regime (porridge, bananas, eggs, perhaps the odd knaeckerbrot with nut butter and green tea) was definitely giving him more energy and therefore more adventurous hikes were the order of the day. Maps were pulled out after supper and studied so that the next morning the tramp and trampess could set out on new, long hikes, some of which could start from or wind up in different villages, as long as our trusty Bregenzerkarte would bring us home on one of the local (and very superior) buses.
If I have not said it before, climbing up is wonderful cardio exercise (and as you will remember is the basis for effortless weight loss), walking down is stressful for the knees and cartilage and therefore to be avoided at all cost, so the tramp wished to discover walks with a minimum climb of 1000m and a lift at the top for the return journey. The trampess began studying the local bus schedules to discover which of the tramp’s newly discovered routes were achievable with local transport (after all it is one thing to hike for 5 hours in the mountains and quite another to have to walk along a main road for 17km to return home!).
Before wandering too far afield, the tramp decided that there was another route to Baumgarten which had not been explored. It was a fine day and the two tramps set out early. The tramp’s pace had improved and we arrived at a decision point that would take us up to the top of Baumgarten or on a longer path through a high valley north of Baumgarten and towards Schoenenbach. A check of the bus schedule indicated a bus returning from Schoenenbach to Bezau at around 4:15 and another at 5:15. With a good supply of nuts and chocolate in our back packs and our camels fully loaded with water, we decided to head for Schoenenbach (besides it has such a promising name). The walk through the valley was stupendous: the valley was long and narrow and the view through the mountains was ever changing and truly beautiful. We walked up for some distance, though not in the relentless way that walking to a summit means, so it was thoroughly pleasant and not at all demanding. An hour or two later the path took a turn down and it was clear that it was going to be a steep down for sometime. The weather had by now turned and was chilly and windy. The tramp decided we needed to stop: to tighten his shoe laces (always required for a descent) and to stoke up on nuts and chocolate. It was going to be a long and gruesome walk. Quite how long and gruesome we had yet to realise. Not that I mind walking though herds of cows (I am quite used to that, even when the occasional bull lows at me in a slightly menacing manner), but this particular herd was in land that was particularly mucky so dodging cows at the same time as avoiding wet cow pats was not a perfect rural experience. Nonetheless, we progressed only to discover that the path led across the valley and was going up the other ridge that defined it. This was more like it, though the path was rough and very steep. After a long climb up we went into a forest and began to descend again. It was there that we came across a long stretch of what I can only call quickmud: you know, the alpine equivalent of quicksand. Now the tramp was in the lead (it must be noted that the tramp is very sure footed and has very long legs so that particularly steep descending bits are his forte even though he hates them). As the trampess was negotiating a particularly sticky patch, the tramp cried out “photo opportunity” and shot the trampess trying very hard, and almost unsuccessfully to pull her right boot out of the mud. It did occur to me, that I could remove my foot from the shoe and walk home unshod (or appeal to the tramp to dig out the boot and then put it back on), but happily, without expletives, but with extreme effort on the part of my right leg and both hands, the mud released the right foot. The tramp took a few more photos of your trampess beaming as she trod through mud. Photos are forever, the memory (and the mud) fades, the lesson is always to smile. Eventually, beginning to wonder if we were still on the path, we saw signs confirming that we were indeed still on the path to Schoenenbach.
Signs do not always indicate proximity - I remember seeing signs, with no mileage, on the motorway not far out of central London indicating we were on the way to Edinburgh; one would have thought one was only 50 miles away – this dear reader was one such sign. More muddy fields, more soggy cow pats and the weather now definitely wet – a gentle but persistent drizzle. Eventually we began to descend for real and in the distance we saw a few barns, a small church and a couple of houses. This was downtown Schoenenbach. In another half hour we were in the centre of town just a stone’s throw from the bus stop. THE bus stop for THE bus (we could actually see Schoenenbach’s only bus parked behind a barn waiting to make its Saturday trip to Bezau – it only makes two trips a day, and then, only on Saturday and Sunday). You have heard of one horse towns; well Schoenenbach is a one bus, two days a week town. The queue at the bus stop built up quite quickly behind us. Evidently many come here to walk; few stay. Happily having arrived 20 minutes early we nabbed seats under the awning of a barn at the stop, which also meant that we managed to get seats on the bus for the entire one hour journey back (which of course required a change in Bizau). The tramp decided that the walk from Schoenenbach to Baumgarten would be quite a pleasant one, but that we would never, ever, do it the other way round as we had today.
If coming back from Schoenenbach is a twice in a weekend event, getting to Schoenenbach is even more problematic. Attempting to follow the tramp’s decision, we set out one morning to catch the early Saturday morning bus (there is one in the morning and one at lunchtime; obviously there are none in the afternoon as that is when the bus returns from Schoenenbach). AS we prepared to jump on the bus, the driver informed us that he did not go that far – only to Bizau. The schedule was wrong: only the lunchtime bus operated. A quick look at the map determined our course: another assault on Baumgarten only this time via Sonderdach – a route we had not yet taken. If you find all these village names confusing, let me assure you that the tramp, whose mother tongue is, after all, the local language, continues to confuse them. He does not get confused on maps though and Sonderdach is definitely not Schoenenbach and proved a very beautiful way to reach the top.
Still, we were eager to find new routes that took us up but allowed us to ride down. The trampess (what good is it to be blonde if you can’t come up with simple but effective suggestions) suggested that looking at the Bregenzerkarte might reveal just such routes: it lists all the bergbahns one can use with the card. Lo and behold this investigation revealed a route to Baumgarten from Moos (near Andelsbuch) with two chair lifts from the top. Moos is, of course, another tiny village on the other side of Baumgarten from Bezau and from which has a large car park, including for caravans. This it transpires is the base from which most of the hang gliders we see hovering over Baumgarten start from and land. The chair lift is very active on the way up and very empty on the way down – most hang gliders occupy one side and their equipment (packed into a large rucksack) the other – and of course they go up in the chair and fly down (also not hard on the knees or ligaments but without the benefit of the cardio workout that your tramps get).
The day was glorious and the route simply splendid and quite, quite different from the paths leading from Bezau. The path skirted farms and meadows but was at the edge of a forest. We passed a farm where the farmer had finished mowing and was burning the odd bit of bracken (have I mentioned how beautiful the farms are? Since we are on the Kaesestrasse, you can assume that all farms are dairy farms. This means that there are cows and meadows. The meadows go to the edge of the forests: the cows are let loose on the steep pastures and the lower pastures are mown throughout the summer to make hay for the winter months when the cows are stabled. It makes for a very luscious countryside). The first smell that felt like fall. The path was steep and narrow but pleasant to walk on. It crossed under the chair lift so often the peace of the countryside was interrupted with shrieks of childish laughter from above. Some would even call “Halo” down to us – probably wondering what crazy people we were to be climbing up when a perfectly good (well, actually as we found out on the way down, serviceable is probably a more appropriate word – these lifts are possibly as old as I am) lift would take us to the top. After awhile the path pulled away from the course of the lift and silence returned. The views were magnificent but, of course, completely different since we were now on the Bodensee side of Baumgarten. One could have been climbing a completely different mountain. About halfway up we were overtaken (!) by an extremely fit man of a certain age (probably not quite as old as we, but certainly not in his thirties!) carrying his hang glider on his back. As I mentioned earlier, these are not small like rucksacks, even though they are in that form, so carrying one must be quite a load. Clearly he was the iron man of hang gliding. It reminded me of the old days (not, you understand that I ever did it) of skiing when skiers put their (much lighter) skis on their backs and climbed the mountain they were going to ski down. Clearly the iron man approached hang gliding in that fashion. One would definitely feel one had earned the right to fly after that!
By the end of three and a half hours (and 12:30 by the clock) we had reached the top of Baumgarten. It turns out that the lifts there have a rather longer mid day break than the lifts on the other side: from 11:45 until 1:15. We could hear the lift operator inside the station but breaks are breaks and the fact that demand was building up (several older and rather infirm walkers – one suspects from the other lift to this one – certainly not from Moos – arrived after we did) did not make the lift service commence any earlier, though the operator did come out to open the gate and offer seats on the benches adjacent his hut. We could have walked along the ridge and across to the other side and taken the usual bergbahn down but then our car would have to be retrieved from Moos – a rather long walk from Bezau! So with the usual nuts and chocolate to keep hunger from the door, we waited until 1:15. I always liked chair lifts better than T-bars when skiing but I have to say that running off a chairlift while carrying a back pack can be challenging (at least for the trampess – the tramp, needless to say, is a champion at this sort of thing), so even though I had explicit directions to run to the right while the tramp would run to the left and then come to get me, I must confess that the chair did bump my delicate bottom as I ran off. Even with the help of the lift operator who tried to slow it down. Oh well sometimes blondes really are blondes. But at least we have proved, that while all roads lead to Rome, many in the greater Bezau area lead to Baumgarten, which has the great advantage of being good to the ligaments, even if occasionally bad for the bottom!
If I have not said it before, climbing up is wonderful cardio exercise (and as you will remember is the basis for effortless weight loss), walking down is stressful for the knees and cartilage and therefore to be avoided at all cost, so the tramp wished to discover walks with a minimum climb of 1000m and a lift at the top for the return journey. The trampess began studying the local bus schedules to discover which of the tramp’s newly discovered routes were achievable with local transport (after all it is one thing to hike for 5 hours in the mountains and quite another to have to walk along a main road for 17km to return home!).
Before wandering too far afield, the tramp decided that there was another route to Baumgarten which had not been explored. It was a fine day and the two tramps set out early. The tramp’s pace had improved and we arrived at a decision point that would take us up to the top of Baumgarten or on a longer path through a high valley north of Baumgarten and towards Schoenenbach. A check of the bus schedule indicated a bus returning from Schoenenbach to Bezau at around 4:15 and another at 5:15. With a good supply of nuts and chocolate in our back packs and our camels fully loaded with water, we decided to head for Schoenenbach (besides it has such a promising name). The walk through the valley was stupendous: the valley was long and narrow and the view through the mountains was ever changing and truly beautiful. We walked up for some distance, though not in the relentless way that walking to a summit means, so it was thoroughly pleasant and not at all demanding. An hour or two later the path took a turn down and it was clear that it was going to be a steep down for sometime. The weather had by now turned and was chilly and windy. The tramp decided we needed to stop: to tighten his shoe laces (always required for a descent) and to stoke up on nuts and chocolate. It was going to be a long and gruesome walk. Quite how long and gruesome we had yet to realise. Not that I mind walking though herds of cows (I am quite used to that, even when the occasional bull lows at me in a slightly menacing manner), but this particular herd was in land that was particularly mucky so dodging cows at the same time as avoiding wet cow pats was not a perfect rural experience. Nonetheless, we progressed only to discover that the path led across the valley and was going up the other ridge that defined it. This was more like it, though the path was rough and very steep. After a long climb up we went into a forest and began to descend again. It was there that we came across a long stretch of what I can only call quickmud: you know, the alpine equivalent of quicksand. Now the tramp was in the lead (it must be noted that the tramp is very sure footed and has very long legs so that particularly steep descending bits are his forte even though he hates them). As the trampess was negotiating a particularly sticky patch, the tramp cried out “photo opportunity” and shot the trampess trying very hard, and almost unsuccessfully to pull her right boot out of the mud. It did occur to me, that I could remove my foot from the shoe and walk home unshod (or appeal to the tramp to dig out the boot and then put it back on), but happily, without expletives, but with extreme effort on the part of my right leg and both hands, the mud released the right foot. The tramp took a few more photos of your trampess beaming as she trod through mud. Photos are forever, the memory (and the mud) fades, the lesson is always to smile. Eventually, beginning to wonder if we were still on the path, we saw signs confirming that we were indeed still on the path to Schoenenbach.
Signs do not always indicate proximity - I remember seeing signs, with no mileage, on the motorway not far out of central London indicating we were on the way to Edinburgh; one would have thought one was only 50 miles away – this dear reader was one such sign. More muddy fields, more soggy cow pats and the weather now definitely wet – a gentle but persistent drizzle. Eventually we began to descend for real and in the distance we saw a few barns, a small church and a couple of houses. This was downtown Schoenenbach. In another half hour we were in the centre of town just a stone’s throw from the bus stop. THE bus stop for THE bus (we could actually see Schoenenbach’s only bus parked behind a barn waiting to make its Saturday trip to Bezau – it only makes two trips a day, and then, only on Saturday and Sunday). You have heard of one horse towns; well Schoenenbach is a one bus, two days a week town. The queue at the bus stop built up quite quickly behind us. Evidently many come here to walk; few stay. Happily having arrived 20 minutes early we nabbed seats under the awning of a barn at the stop, which also meant that we managed to get seats on the bus for the entire one hour journey back (which of course required a change in Bizau). The tramp decided that the walk from Schoenenbach to Baumgarten would be quite a pleasant one, but that we would never, ever, do it the other way round as we had today.
If coming back from Schoenenbach is a twice in a weekend event, getting to Schoenenbach is even more problematic. Attempting to follow the tramp’s decision, we set out one morning to catch the early Saturday morning bus (there is one in the morning and one at lunchtime; obviously there are none in the afternoon as that is when the bus returns from Schoenenbach). AS we prepared to jump on the bus, the driver informed us that he did not go that far – only to Bizau. The schedule was wrong: only the lunchtime bus operated. A quick look at the map determined our course: another assault on Baumgarten only this time via Sonderdach – a route we had not yet taken. If you find all these village names confusing, let me assure you that the tramp, whose mother tongue is, after all, the local language, continues to confuse them. He does not get confused on maps though and Sonderdach is definitely not Schoenenbach and proved a very beautiful way to reach the top.
Still, we were eager to find new routes that took us up but allowed us to ride down. The trampess (what good is it to be blonde if you can’t come up with simple but effective suggestions) suggested that looking at the Bregenzerkarte might reveal just such routes: it lists all the bergbahns one can use with the card. Lo and behold this investigation revealed a route to Baumgarten from Moos (near Andelsbuch) with two chair lifts from the top. Moos is, of course, another tiny village on the other side of Baumgarten from Bezau and from which has a large car park, including for caravans. This it transpires is the base from which most of the hang gliders we see hovering over Baumgarten start from and land. The chair lift is very active on the way up and very empty on the way down – most hang gliders occupy one side and their equipment (packed into a large rucksack) the other – and of course they go up in the chair and fly down (also not hard on the knees or ligaments but without the benefit of the cardio workout that your tramps get).
The day was glorious and the route simply splendid and quite, quite different from the paths leading from Bezau. The path skirted farms and meadows but was at the edge of a forest. We passed a farm where the farmer had finished mowing and was burning the odd bit of bracken (have I mentioned how beautiful the farms are? Since we are on the Kaesestrasse, you can assume that all farms are dairy farms. This means that there are cows and meadows. The meadows go to the edge of the forests: the cows are let loose on the steep pastures and the lower pastures are mown throughout the summer to make hay for the winter months when the cows are stabled. It makes for a very luscious countryside). The first smell that felt like fall. The path was steep and narrow but pleasant to walk on. It crossed under the chair lift so often the peace of the countryside was interrupted with shrieks of childish laughter from above. Some would even call “Halo” down to us – probably wondering what crazy people we were to be climbing up when a perfectly good (well, actually as we found out on the way down, serviceable is probably a more appropriate word – these lifts are possibly as old as I am) lift would take us to the top. After awhile the path pulled away from the course of the lift and silence returned. The views were magnificent but, of course, completely different since we were now on the Bodensee side of Baumgarten. One could have been climbing a completely different mountain. About halfway up we were overtaken (!) by an extremely fit man of a certain age (probably not quite as old as we, but certainly not in his thirties!) carrying his hang glider on his back. As I mentioned earlier, these are not small like rucksacks, even though they are in that form, so carrying one must be quite a load. Clearly he was the iron man of hang gliding. It reminded me of the old days (not, you understand that I ever did it) of skiing when skiers put their (much lighter) skis on their backs and climbed the mountain they were going to ski down. Clearly the iron man approached hang gliding in that fashion. One would definitely feel one had earned the right to fly after that!
By the end of three and a half hours (and 12:30 by the clock) we had reached the top of Baumgarten. It turns out that the lifts there have a rather longer mid day break than the lifts on the other side: from 11:45 until 1:15. We could hear the lift operator inside the station but breaks are breaks and the fact that demand was building up (several older and rather infirm walkers – one suspects from the other lift to this one – certainly not from Moos – arrived after we did) did not make the lift service commence any earlier, though the operator did come out to open the gate and offer seats on the benches adjacent his hut. We could have walked along the ridge and across to the other side and taken the usual bergbahn down but then our car would have to be retrieved from Moos – a rather long walk from Bezau! So with the usual nuts and chocolate to keep hunger from the door, we waited until 1:15. I always liked chair lifts better than T-bars when skiing but I have to say that running off a chairlift while carrying a back pack can be challenging (at least for the trampess – the tramp, needless to say, is a champion at this sort of thing), so even though I had explicit directions to run to the right while the tramp would run to the left and then come to get me, I must confess that the chair did bump my delicate bottom as I ran off. Even with the help of the lift operator who tried to slow it down. Oh well sometimes blondes really are blondes. But at least we have proved, that while all roads lead to Rome, many in the greater Bezau area lead to Baumgarten, which has the great advantage of being good to the ligaments, even if occasionally bad for the bottom!
Saturday, 13 September 2008
Culinary Rewards from the Famed Abbess of the Middle Ages
Tramp1, who when he isn’t studying or working out in the gym, likes to eat. A lot. He requested one of the trampess’s specialities before he left and expressed interest in going to the Schwanen in Bizau where you will remember we failed to get in the day after he arrived owing to the fact that it was their “rest day”. The tramp decided that he and tramp1 would go to the gym together on Sunday while your trampess was upholding the family honour by attending church (have I mentioned that the church in Bezau is large enough to hold the entire population of the village plus a large number of visitors staying in the local hotels? No, well it is, and most of the village is there every Sunday and in what my 7th grade Southern Baptist history teacher used to call “Sunday go to meeting” finery). This way by the time they came back from the gym, lunch presumably would be ready. As it happened, the trampess was happy to fall in with these plans – indeed she almost succumbed to a cappuccino at the Post Hotel (the oldest and grandest in Bezau) as the outside terrace is so welcoming but decided to have the cappuccino in the WLW while contemplating cooking. It was a good plan and lunch (the requested ginger garlic chicken) was ready just as the exhausted iron pumpers returned.
The rest of the day was spent relaxing and conversing over the usual miseries: world politics, European politics, and US politics. Then things became serious when the tramp announced he didn’t think there would be time to go to the Schwanen for lunch given tramp1’s flight time from Zurich – especially since the plan was for him to go by Landesbus. Tramp1 almost hyperventilated, but the trampess saved the day by suggesting that if we were at the Schwanen by noon, the 2:36 bus would be easy to make (it stops in front of the Schwanen) and tramp1 would make his plane. The Schwanen was duly telephoned and it was established that they opened at 11:30 for lunch (after all hikers who are up at the crack of dawn might be down the mountain and starving by that time and the Schwanen is nothing if not accommodating!). It was agreed that tramp1 would pack his rucksack that night and the tramp would put tramp1’s computer into his rucksack so that all tramp1’s luggage (so to speak) would be on our backs for the morning hike.
The next day was beautiful and we set out early (after the usual hearty breakfast of course). Instead of going on the fast route to Bizau, the tramp decided on a longer and more scenic one. Tramp1 was nervous – a good hike was one thing, missing lunch quite another, but the tramp, having first felt that lunch was impossible, felt quite confident that he was reading the maps correctly and that we would arrive in plenty of time. The trampess, while trusting the tramp’s reading of the map completely, was concerned that the route we were intending to take might have been the one which ended on the wrong side of a cliff last year. The tramp assured her this was not the case, and your three intrepid tramps set out. As it happened, the tramp was of course right and we arrived in plenty of time (just before noon) at the Schwanen. Now, if it has not been mentioned before, the area around Schwarzenberg (which includes Bizau) is heavily influenced by Hildegard von Bingen. You will, of course, remember the beloved Hildegard (tenth child of a noble family and therefore tithed to the Church): her sacred music is heard almost every Sunday at some church in England (and one would assume throughout Germany where she lived – in fact, had your tramps known of the importance of Hildegard, they would have undoubtedly stopped at the abbey where she lived on the Rhein when they were making their first delicate excursions) and her visionary writings were given the papal imprimatur. But importantly, for the Schwanen, she was also very interested in herbs, herbal medicines and the importance of eating correctly (she suffered from migraines and perhaps her interest was driven by a desire for a remedy). One can only imagine that the abbey that Hildegard became abbess of was, under her leadership, the Canyon Ranch of the 12th Century. Anyone who lived to 81 in the 12th century must have understood a thing or two about longevity! The menu at the Schwanen was developed under her guidance (well under the guidance of her philosophy) and so we began with the drinks that fit our needs (the descriptions are very fulsome and cover fatigue, depression, the need to relax, the need to be energised and so forth): the tramp and tramp1 had a rather magnificent raspberry concoction; the trampess a sour cherry one (and was reminded that her great aunt, a devout Presbyterian and therefore teetotaller, used to make all manner of vegetable or fruit drinks as cocktails before dinner, with varying degrees of success). Galgant (vaguely corklike in appearance and potent – a favourite of Hildegard) and fennel are always on the table in small bottles to be taken, rather like snuff, but eaten not inhaled, in small doses before (perhaps even during) the meal. The drinks were pure nectar. After much discussion (and translation of the menu for tramp1), we ordered. And while nothing at the Schwanen comes quickly (this is a serious restaurant in the middle of nowhere) it is all wonderful. Tramp1 would have probably been willing to miss his airplane for this lunch. As it happened, there was time for pudding without prejudice to the flight. Tramp1 exclaimed when he saw Kaiserschmarr’n on the dessert menu. He had last had it in Austria many years ago and decided not only was it fit for the Kaiser, it was definitely HIS best pudding. The tramp who is also partial to a good Kaiserschmarr’n suggested that they order one between them (it is a very large portion that the Schwanen produce!). Tramp1 however is allergic to wheat and declared that sadly he would never be eating it again. The tramp couldn’t believe there was any flour in the famed pudding and the waiter was duly summoned. The trampess was, of course, reasonably certain there was flour in it but demurred to the waiter. Miracle of miracles (well perhaps not given Hildegard’s unerring influence), the Kaiserschmarr’n at the Schwanen is made with Dinkel (spelt to you and me) and not wheat and so the pudding was ordered. The trampess had the totally irresistible Basilikummousse with cooked berries (which might sound outrageously awful but, trust me, is sublime).
And so the tramps leapt onto tramp1’s bus (well perhaps leapt is an exaggeration given the deeply satisfying and filling lunch) as it went through Bezau on the way to Bregenz where the young tramp would transfer to a train. Kisses and hugs and computers were exchanged in haste as the bus pulled into Bezau and tramp1 was on his way. All in all a totally satisfying visit - even the discussions between Genghis Khan and Mao had been friendly. It seems both young and old had mellowed.
The rest of the day was spent relaxing and conversing over the usual miseries: world politics, European politics, and US politics. Then things became serious when the tramp announced he didn’t think there would be time to go to the Schwanen for lunch given tramp1’s flight time from Zurich – especially since the plan was for him to go by Landesbus. Tramp1 almost hyperventilated, but the trampess saved the day by suggesting that if we were at the Schwanen by noon, the 2:36 bus would be easy to make (it stops in front of the Schwanen) and tramp1 would make his plane. The Schwanen was duly telephoned and it was established that they opened at 11:30 for lunch (after all hikers who are up at the crack of dawn might be down the mountain and starving by that time and the Schwanen is nothing if not accommodating!). It was agreed that tramp1 would pack his rucksack that night and the tramp would put tramp1’s computer into his rucksack so that all tramp1’s luggage (so to speak) would be on our backs for the morning hike.
The next day was beautiful and we set out early (after the usual hearty breakfast of course). Instead of going on the fast route to Bizau, the tramp decided on a longer and more scenic one. Tramp1 was nervous – a good hike was one thing, missing lunch quite another, but the tramp, having first felt that lunch was impossible, felt quite confident that he was reading the maps correctly and that we would arrive in plenty of time. The trampess, while trusting the tramp’s reading of the map completely, was concerned that the route we were intending to take might have been the one which ended on the wrong side of a cliff last year. The tramp assured her this was not the case, and your three intrepid tramps set out. As it happened, the tramp was of course right and we arrived in plenty of time (just before noon) at the Schwanen. Now, if it has not been mentioned before, the area around Schwarzenberg (which includes Bizau) is heavily influenced by Hildegard von Bingen. You will, of course, remember the beloved Hildegard (tenth child of a noble family and therefore tithed to the Church): her sacred music is heard almost every Sunday at some church in England (and one would assume throughout Germany where she lived – in fact, had your tramps known of the importance of Hildegard, they would have undoubtedly stopped at the abbey where she lived on the Rhein when they were making their first delicate excursions) and her visionary writings were given the papal imprimatur. But importantly, for the Schwanen, she was also very interested in herbs, herbal medicines and the importance of eating correctly (she suffered from migraines and perhaps her interest was driven by a desire for a remedy). One can only imagine that the abbey that Hildegard became abbess of was, under her leadership, the Canyon Ranch of the 12th Century. Anyone who lived to 81 in the 12th century must have understood a thing or two about longevity! The menu at the Schwanen was developed under her guidance (well under the guidance of her philosophy) and so we began with the drinks that fit our needs (the descriptions are very fulsome and cover fatigue, depression, the need to relax, the need to be energised and so forth): the tramp and tramp1 had a rather magnificent raspberry concoction; the trampess a sour cherry one (and was reminded that her great aunt, a devout Presbyterian and therefore teetotaller, used to make all manner of vegetable or fruit drinks as cocktails before dinner, with varying degrees of success). Galgant (vaguely corklike in appearance and potent – a favourite of Hildegard) and fennel are always on the table in small bottles to be taken, rather like snuff, but eaten not inhaled, in small doses before (perhaps even during) the meal. The drinks were pure nectar. After much discussion (and translation of the menu for tramp1), we ordered. And while nothing at the Schwanen comes quickly (this is a serious restaurant in the middle of nowhere) it is all wonderful. Tramp1 would have probably been willing to miss his airplane for this lunch. As it happened, there was time for pudding without prejudice to the flight. Tramp1 exclaimed when he saw Kaiserschmarr’n on the dessert menu. He had last had it in Austria many years ago and decided not only was it fit for the Kaiser, it was definitely HIS best pudding. The tramp who is also partial to a good Kaiserschmarr’n suggested that they order one between them (it is a very large portion that the Schwanen produce!). Tramp1 however is allergic to wheat and declared that sadly he would never be eating it again. The tramp couldn’t believe there was any flour in the famed pudding and the waiter was duly summoned. The trampess was, of course, reasonably certain there was flour in it but demurred to the waiter. Miracle of miracles (well perhaps not given Hildegard’s unerring influence), the Kaiserschmarr’n at the Schwanen is made with Dinkel (spelt to you and me) and not wheat and so the pudding was ordered. The trampess had the totally irresistible Basilikummousse with cooked berries (which might sound outrageously awful but, trust me, is sublime).
And so the tramps leapt onto tramp1’s bus (well perhaps leapt is an exaggeration given the deeply satisfying and filling lunch) as it went through Bezau on the way to Bregenz where the young tramp would transfer to a train. Kisses and hugs and computers were exchanged in haste as the bus pulled into Bezau and tramp1 was on his way. All in all a totally satisfying visit - even the discussions between Genghis Khan and Mao had been friendly. It seems both young and old had mellowed.
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