My first trip through Austria's Tyrolean Alps remains a vivid memory. I had boarded the Alpine Express in Vienna and headed west along the Danube River, across rolling countryside lushly green and dotted with villages. The route, considered one of the most scenic in Europe, passes through the Inn River Valley on its way over the mountains to Switzerland.
On that excursion I settled into a small hotel in Innsbruck, one in which Mozart reportedly stayed when he was a child. I explored not only the town but the high mountain valleys that surround it. I indulged myself, hiking until my calves ached and granite peaks had spread lengthy shadows across the landscape.The experience whetted my appetite for more. I hoped to once again set an aching foot in the Tyrol.
The chance came my way last fall. But this time I decided to leave the awe-inspiring but well-traveled Inn River Valley behind and venture further into the mountains. My destinations were the villages of Pertisau and Mayerhofen, tiny towns whose chief charm is a relentless alpine panorama with mountains stretching endlessly in every direction. Both can be reached via antique railways that take off from Jenbach, where I was the only passenger to step off the Maria-Theresia Express. The train station has only a small cafe, restrooms and a ticket office that doubles as the bank for foreign exchange.
There I climbed aboard a narrow-gauge, rackrail train that makes a short but strenuous climb over the pass to the Achensee. The train is authentic down to the ashes that spew from the locomotive, spreading droplets of soot over the countryside, not to mention a few on the passengers. But the train, the only known rackrail still operating, is unique enough to attract a capacity crowd throughout its summer season.
The train ends its run on the shore of the Achensee where passengers transfer to yet another antique, a 100-year-old (or thereabouts, if memory serves me correctly) steamboat. The steamer ferries people to villages that line the lake. Pertisau, population 400 people and who-knows-how-many cows, is one.
Houses decorated with blooming geraniums are scattered along roads that run helter-skelter through the village. The arrangement appears to be a lack of planning but is probably more a matter of practicality. Roads must skirt around meadows which this time of year are inhabited by cows that have come home from the mountains. The village's heritage, afterall, is agrarian. (References to the town made in the year 1320 mention eight farms.) Besides, the best way to get from point A to point B in a scenic mountain village is to walk. For my money the more the roads meander, the better.
I headed toward downtown Pertisau, a cluster of three or four buildings. In this center of commerce I found a shop that sells a local specialty, a liquid, supposedly good for massaging aching muscles, extracted from nearby coal deposits. I bought a bottle and discovered it has an anti-social aspect _ the odor of sulphur. I didn't get the opportunity to use it. My hiking in Pertisau was limited to a quick stroll around the village, hardly enough to warrant reeking of sulphur.
I traveled in the mountains by car to a hut that sells fresh milk and raw bacon. The milk went down like cream but I had trouble with the bacon. Nevertheless, I gave it the old college try.
My glimpse of the rugged canyon beyond told me this is a hiker's paradise. In the winter cross-country skiers would be happy here, too.
I returned to my hotel determined to come back to Pertisau when I had time to explore the trails and get a more in-depth look at the scenery. The sound of cowbells lulled me to sleep.
The next morning the Achensee was shrouded in fog. The ride on the rackrail back to Jenbach was chilly. There I caught yet another antique, a narrow-gauge train called the Zillertalbahn that runs the length of the Ziller Valley. Its final stop is the town of Mayerhofen.
My hotel was typical alpine architecture with pots of geraniums on every balcony. My cozy room had a thick feather bed to sleep under. For dinner I ate a bowl of soup and chunks of whole-grained farmers bread.
Mayerhofen is yet another a gateway to the mountains. Hintertux, a center for glacier climbing and skiing, is a short ride away via the postal bus. So are other Tyrolean villages with their solitary churches set amid a smattering of houses. They have in common splendid scenery - snow-topped peaks and green, rolling valleys.
Mayerhofen, with a main street that stretches for maybe a half a mile lined with clothing stores, floral shops, restaurants and bakeries, is a metropolis by comparison.
My escort drove me to a restaurant that overlooks the town by who-knows-how-many thousands of vertical feet. The view from the terrace where I ate a piece of apple strudel revealed a stack of peaks, one behind the other, as far as I could see.
I gave in to my urge to walk. My escort let me out of the car mid-way down the mountain where I picked up a trail that led me to town. I was not alone. Several families were out for an early evening stroll.
I missed the last postal bus to Hintertux, where I had wanted to go just to see the scenery, so I spent the time shopping for groceries. I bought cheese, apples, chocolate and mineral water. I stopped at the bakery down the street for freshly baked rolls. I planned to snack on the food the next day when I took the train to Innsbruck and over Brenner Pass to Italy.
My short stay in the Alps once again made for vivid memories. And like good chocolate, the more I taste of the Tyrol, the more I want.
Arrivaderchi Austria.
Kathryn Clayton participated in a press tour to Austria as a guest of the Austrian National Tourist Office and Lufthansa German Airlines.