Uncertainty in Austria

Me: “That’s not an Alp, that’s a hill.”
Jesse: “Nah, man. You try climbing that ‘hill’ and see how far you get.”
Me: “Oh I respect the hill. That hill would kick my ass. And in most other places that would definitely be a mountain. But it’s relative, right?”

I turn the other way and point to the sheer, snow-covered summit of a different topographical entity.

Me: “That’s an Alp. Compared to that Alp, this one,” I turn back to the mound in question “can only be called a hill, or maybe a hill-ton at best.”
Jesse: “A Salzburg Hilton, you might say”
Me: “Sal Hilton, long-lost sister of her more famous sibling.”

These were the types of conversations we had that day. Speculative and carefree. We let our eyes roam over the landscape as we walked along the Salzach river and through Salzburg, taking in every feature. On a bridge over the river at the north edge of the city, you can see three spires painted a sea green, teal color. That shade of green matched the color of the river almost exactly. We stood on the bridge, and the wind began to strengthen as storm clouds in the southern sky moved closer. The wind barreled over the river and created little spots of white foam, as pockets of air-swept water crashed back into the Salzach.

We should have been worried. We were about 2 miles from the main train station, and thunderclouds were chasing us. I saw a bolt of lightning emanate from one of the many hill-tons that surround the city. Our train to Villach, Austria was leaving in about 40 minutes, and we did not know where to meet our host, where he lived, or anything about the city. My phone was down to $0.08 in credit, which meant that I could only receive texts but could not make/receive calls or send texts. The plan was to get to the city, find internet, contact our host on Skype, and meet up from there. If any of those things went wrong, we’d probably end up camping in a park. The weather was looking frightful.

….


In Villach, we got off the train, and the station was pretty much deserted. Luckily, the storm hadn’t followed us, and we walked outside to a warm, clear night filled with taxi cab drivers conversing and several students laughing on the sidewalk.

We had a lot of trouble getting ahold of our host. After eventually finding an internet signal, the skype connection was bad and he had a heavy accent. We sat on the sidewalk outside a closed café with our packs strewn around us and our laptops open. A drunk Austrian guy came over and, in broken Germano-English, had us add him as a friend on facebook.

For all intents and purposes, we were homeless, and there seemed to be a growing possibility that we would end up in a park somewhere with packs for pillows and jackets for blankets.

But is that actually so bad? It was warm, the thunderstorm seemed far away, and this city had a relaxed, safe, and friendly atmosphere to it. As we walked along the street next to some bars and an endless row of kebap shops, we held a computer aloft to try and catch another wi-fi signal.

I wasn’t worried at all. There was absolutely no stress. I loved walking around this little city at night, having the cathedral in the middle of the central square to myself. I loved that we were in a town we’d never heard of 2 days ago, surrounded by hills that seemed to embrace the valley we sat in. As Mary Klayder has said to so many stressed undergraduates: It was going to be fine. The worst that could happen wasn’t actually that bad.

Of course we found our hosts, and they were amazing. Students at the local university, many of the people in their house were away on holiday, so Jesse and I each had our own room for those two nights. Tomorrow we’ll go to Bled, Slovenia, where we’ll walk around a big lake and take lots of pictures of a massive gorge. How much better can life be?

Day 1: Prague to Cesky Krumlov

We awoke this morning at 8:15. After a quick shower, we say goodbye to our hosts Craig and Will, and walk out the door.

My backpack is an Osprey Atmos 35 liter. By sticking my running shoes in the front pouch, I can fit 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of shorts, 5 t-shirts, 2 long-sleeve shirts, 7 boxers, 10 socks, 1 bath towel, 1 bar of soap, a razor, shaving cream, contact lens solution, various plugs and chargers, my computer, and a water bottle. These items, along with the things I have in my pockets, will be my only possessions for the next 2 months.

The backpack sits comfortably on my shoulders, and when the buckle around my waist is fastened, it’s more like gaining 20 pounds than having something strapped to me. Jesse and I each buy a ham & cheese sandwich and 5 bread rolls to snack on. A short tram ride later and we’re at the main Prague train station, Hlavni Nadrazi.

I love train travel because it’s much more relaxed than travelling by air. No security, no lines, no stress. After checking our departure time and platform number, we sit on a bench outside the station and eat some bread. People come and go through the front doors, some businessmen and businesswomen with briefcases in tow, some younger people with big backpacks. As we walk back into the station, I can hear an American family squabbling. The mother, a short woman with cropped red hair, says “See that red pole there? That one right there? Well, I’m not going past it. I’m staying right here.” Neither the significance of the nondescript red pole nor her reason for fearing it is readily evident.

The train from Prague to Ceske Budejovice leaves at 11:16. Upon arrival, we will transfer to another train for a one-hour journey to Cesky Krumlov.

The train is compartmentalized, a series of rooms with two benches facing each other. The seats are reasonably comfortable, and I’m happy to see there’s plenty of legroom. The windows are large and wide, and we open ours to let the fresh spring air flow into the compartment.

This countryside reminds me of the Ozark Mountains. As a child, my family and I would make the seven-hour drive to Arkansas to see our grandparents, usually three or four times per year. Those winding roads jut in and out of the mountainside, curving through tall thin trees. When the view opens, you can see green meadows punctuated by plots of forest or farmland. Trees with rounded tops populate the higher parts of the short, densely packed mountains.

Here in rural Czech Republic, the winding road has turned to train tracks, and the green meadows have transformed to fields of bright flowers. Their color is striking: marigold yellow, with the green stems poking through between the lush petals that fill this landscape. It contrasts well with the brick houses spaced intermittently.

Cesky Krumlov is a small town of about 150,000 people. It’s known for its natural beauty and quaint charm. The highest mountain in Bohemia, the Klet, is just 7 kilometers from the center, and the Vltava river snakes through the city, where people go tubing or rafting in the summer. The castle has a moat surrounding it, and a family of bears resides on its grounds. Today we will explore the city, climb the castle grounds, and perhaps have a beer or two. Tomorrow morning we hike the Klet.