Overwhelmed by the architecture of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in Vienna, the tramp decided we should give the other side of the partnership a look-in. A few emails to my favourite Hungarian, well, now Englishman, and we had a plan and a list of must sees in Budapest, not to mention the ever reliable Eyewitness guide to Hungary. The trampess had one more trip to London in the service of her favourite opera house and it was decided she should return to Vienna from whence she and the tramp would set out to the eastern part of the Empire. By now you realise, that even in the carefree, but well planned life of the tramps, not everything goes exactly to plan. The trampess’s last days in Vienna were spent hiking in the Wienerwald – alone. The tramp had an ailment that caused him to take to his bed and the WLW, as luxurious as it is, is no place for an active trampess to spend the day.
The Vienna Woods are famous or course – one can walk all the way from the tramps’ entry point past Schoenbrunn and into town (I can only imagine that if there is a Vienna marathon, this would be the route – no need to stop traffic, a nice place for spectators to watch from, and plenty of hills to test the runners). I would not like to say, though, that the paths are particularly well marked. Perhaps it is a city phenomenon: the park is contained by the city (even if it is hundreds and hundreds of acres) so one can’t really get lost: walk long enough in one direction and one is bound to come to the perimeter; whereas, in Bezau, the paths need to be well marked or one could wind up walking all the way to Switzerland or France or Italy – so simply finding oneself at an impasse. In any event the lack of adequate signposting did make the walks seem somewhat more adventurous. Your trampess paid attention to how the sun was moving so she had some hope of at the very least winding up on the right side of the park. At the very worst, the fall back plan, at least of the first day, was to reverse direction when it looked like the last rays of sun were an hour and a half away. In the end, it did not quite come to that, though it would be fair to say that my approach to the hike was a relatively risk averse one (I followed no sign that indicated a 30km destination, for example – after all one could not be sure of reaching it since it was highly likely, as I found out another day, that there would be adequate signage to get one there, nor was I optimistic that there would be signs at intersections leading me back to where I had begun the hike) – I tended to go uphill (my preferred direction in any event) since I would have a view that might also give some perspective on my position akin to having a map (which of course I did not have). Suffice it to say that I arrived back at the WLW on the first day in daylight and in plenty of time to make the tramp’s supper.
The second trip into the Woods was made by a decidedly braver trampess. As I saw it, the worst that could happen was finding that in a fit of exuberance and unrestrained use of my VO2 max, I had made it to Schoenbrunn and would require public transport to return home again before sundown. There were moments when it became clear that this was probably not the worst case, but happily your intrepid trampess has lived to tell the tale and the principles of up and circular still stand her in good stead. The up in this case was well up: after mounting the hill I had climbed before, I went farther and deeper into the woods, comfortingly passing a few country inns with simple fare (not that I am a bratwurst and bier blonde, but it is nice to see life and the security of loos – especially when one is on one’s own and there is no one to stand lookout). After the second inn, there was an outlook station that was well built if simple and clearly (it stood higher than the neighbouring tall trees) afforded panoramic views of the Viennese countryside. Reminding myself that I had trained myself out of a fear of heights, I mounted the open stairs to the top. These were, by the way, not the sort of stairs one wished to encounter anyone going in the opposite direction on: bending backwards over the railing to allow a larger person past could induce fainting in those formerly suffering from a fear of heights. Given the tramp’s frail state sending out an SOS from the foot of a look out tower the location of which I would have been helpless to describe was not a good plan. The reward was worth the risk – it was a clear day and I had a perfect view of my small part of the world – which included an appreciation of just how vast the Wienerwald was. Nonetheless, I decided that a longer walk than previous could be made as long as I pursued a route I devised from the look out point.
It was in fact a beautiful route – though occasionally the path ran out (without warning of course – but happily, with no gingerbread house at the end, either) and I would occasionally have to retrace my steps and take the other fork. At one such point, on the top of a high hill, I decided that it would be easier to go off piste as I could see a path below that followed the direction I wished to go. A little more work than I had hoped (the underbrush slowed me down and the ground was very uneven), but nothing compared to my astonishment when I heard frantic rustling behind me as a gigantic hare leaped across my path. If you are thinking sweet little Easter bunnies, banish that thought immediately from your mind and think huge march hare with big, very big, front teeth. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Obviously so did he. In fact his jump was very impressive – and he kept his skin on. I wondered what other wild beasts might be lurking and if they would all be quite so frightened of me. There were moments, too, when I thought that having seen no one for hours was probably not great, especially when the next person to cross my path was a slightly nervous, lone male. Images from To Kill A Mockingbird came to mind but, of course, I kept telling myself, not everyone who walks alone in a lonely part of the woods is disturbed or dangerous, after all I was walking alone for exercise, air, and the joy of being in nature. Nonetheless, I was quite pleased when my chosen path eventually (and I do mean eventually) came to the edge of the woods and I had a clear path to my goal on a well trodden path – never mind that I was still an hour from the WLW.
Soon it was off to London again, but this time no panic in finding the airport! The return was equally smooth – with the small exception that all plans had changed. It seems that Austria and Hungary (in this they remain united) have laws about snow tyres and from November 1 all cars are required to have them (or else not be on the roads). The WLW and the Smart between them have 12 tyres – no small expense then, especially when the plan for the winter is to go south., where snow tyres would only slow us down (not that we are the fastest thing on 12 wheels!). Buying 12 tyres for a few days (yes, I know, our days always turn into weeks or maybe even months but still) did seem a bit extravagant but one could not risk the weather (there is already snow in Bezau!) so there was only one thing to do. Start driving south. Venice – here we come again – and not via the Dolo
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