Austria, Again and Again and Again

Christine and I had visited Austria twice before: once in 2015 when we visited Salzburg and Hallstatt, and then again on a 2019 epic road trip that brought us through six countries, including Austria, where we explored Vienna on foot and then rode bicycles along a stretch of the Danube River, stopping in the towns of Melk, Spitz, and Durnstein. Austria quickly became one of our favorite countries in all of Europe—checking all the boxes of what we love about what its best countries offer: a rich history, food, well-preserved ancient towns, and—perhaps what Austria provides best—an eyeful of natural wonders.

Austria was the second leg of our road trip—with Germany’s Bavaria being the first stop. From southern Germany, we crossed the border into Austria and stopped for lunch in Innsbruck, stretching our legs along the pedestrian zone, the sun shining and warm and the sky a deep, vibrant blue. We sat for coffee at an outdoor patio in a quiet nook. I ordered an apricot pastry—apricots were in season, and I was told by the owner that their offerings changed with the seasons so that they could always offer the freshest and tastiest treats. While apricot might not be my go-to, on this day, it was very much the right choice. My first pastry of the trip was worth the wait.

From there we had a two-hour drive to the lakeside village of Zell am See. I’d hoped the drive would have been prettier, offering plenty of places to stop and stretch and enjoy some views and fresh air, but the reality of the situation was that it was more or less just a drive—from point A to point B, with more traffic than I’d hoped, and less scenery.

Our frustration continued when we arrived at our apartment. The problem might have been a simple one: our Germany apartment in Garmisch was beautiful and we’d been spoiled. By comparison, the Zell am See apartment seemed rather pedestrian. Something more low-rent, maybe something more akin to what college students on a budget might rent. It didn’t help that the soap dispensers were all empty, or that Jeff’s bed spread had dog hairs on it.

It further didn’t help when we’d taken our first walk into town. Zell am See—on first impression—was suffocating with its crowds and over-touristy. It was hard to find a place for dinner that didn’t have an hour-plus wait. We were tired after a long day of driving, disappointed with first our rental and then this town. We were three or four days into the trip—the midpoint—and we’d just hit our first wall.

After burgers for dinner, the metaphorical gray skies cleared. Evening in Zell am See was cooler and somewhat quieter. We could move around, stroll. We could finally stop for a moment and appreciate this beautiful lake on which the town was perched, the lush green of the dramatic hills on the opposite shore. We wandered side streets, finally relaxing, and landed upon a bar called the Gin House, which would serve as our “hometown” bar for the next three nights. The bar was underground, down a few dark stone steps, as though we’d walked down into a cave. It was quiet enough, so we sat and ordered drinks—then a second round—and listened to good music, and we talked and relaxed and, finally, got our groove back.

The next morning things seemed less dire. Perhaps we’d overreacted. In any case, the management came by and filled our soaps and changed Jeff’s bedding. We’d enjoyed ourselves the night before, and had big plans for some hiking from the summit of Schmittenhohe, the sky above wide and blue and welcoming, the lake far below, mountains bleeding into the far distance. In these last years we’d been spoiled with views like this: Mont Blanc’s dramatic summit in Chamonix, France; the view from the Swiss mountain villages of Murren and Wengen; volcano hikes in Iceland; the craggy peak of the island of Skellig Michael off the coast of Ireland. And here we were again, yet another reminder of just how goddamn lucky we were to be able to spend time in Europe’s incredible playground.

We spent the afternoon hiking back to Zell am See, stopping along the way for mountainside coffee and strudel. I stopped to put my drone up for some shots from above, and while Jeff and Christine paused to wait, they found a ‘telephone to heaven’ mounted to a tree, and when I’d finished with the drone and was walking back down the hill toward them, I spotted Christine finishing with a phone call, wiping her eyes and then sitting on a rock for a few quiet moments, her elbows on her thighs and her gaze on the distant hills and shimmering lake.

That evening, tired and weary, we ate dinner on our back stone patio. Christine put together a charcuterie board with meats and cheeses and spreads, salad, crudités, and fresh bread. We had wine and beer and watched the day surrender to dusk.

Later, we ventured back into town to visit the Gin House again. Christine ordered Tangueray Sevilla and tonic—her favorite drink from Wengen, Switzerland the summer before—tapping into a new favorite and new alpine tradition. It had been a great day, the kind you hope for. The kind you remember for a long, long time. The kind of day you still talk about, years later.

On our final day in Zell am See, we drove an hour or so south to the infamous Grossglockner Alpine Road, a hair-raising, switchbacking, white-knuckling road snaking precariously to a summit of 8200 feet, the highest surface mountain pass road in Austria. Each trip, Jeff looks for that one signature hair-raising adventure: hiking the spine of a smoking volcano in Iceland, hiking through a driving, unrelenting rainstorm on the Slea Head Peninsula in Ireland; the daring and deadly via ferrata cliff hike in the Swiss Alps. On this trip, the Grossglockner Alpine drive checked the box.

The next day, our last in Zell am See, brought mist and light rain. Jeff went for an early run around the lake, then we spent part of the afternoon watching the new Ghostbusters movie, resting our weary bodies. Between Germany and Austria, we’d been road-tripping for a week straight. The World Cup was happening as well, so we watched part of a game while the rains subsided as the afternoon grew long. A stunning and majestic rainbow hopscotched the wide sky, so we stood out on our patio one last time and watched it for probably a half hour or so, this beacon of joy and beauty, underscoring our time here, in Austria.

Growing restless, we hopped in the car and drove to the nearby town of Mittersill for cappuccinos and crepes, and then back to Zell am See for a final farewell dinner. Christine ordered trout with a potato salad that she loved, and she vowed to add the recipe to her repertoire back home. One of our favorite things about travel are these small things that we bring back: not souvenirs or even photos, but these little unplanned and unexpected gifts—like the orange gin and tonic drink she’d fell in love with in Switzerland, or the Guinness I’d never tried in my entire life until those Irish bars with Jeff in 2022, or the incredible rock salt that we’d had in San Sebastian, Spain, flaked over our rare steaks and chili peppers. On this night Jeff tried one more schnitzel, so he could compare to the others he’d had.

We spent the final night of the trip in the city of Salzburg, the best city in Austria and quite possibly Christine’s favorite city in all of Europe. We’d longed to return since that first visit in 2015, and here we were, nearly a decade later, meandering its narrow, ancient streets yet again, its medieval walls washed in moonlight. We stopped for schnapps at Sporer, the tiny, almost claustrophobic tavern we’d visited years before, and then ate dinner at the outdoor beer garden where we’d eaten before, for bratwurst and roasted chicken, retracing our steps from our earlier visit.

After gelato, we meandered across the city, its heart aglow with its soft street lighting, its hidden squares lively with song, and found the same patio bar we’d found before. We’d been searching, unsuccessfully, for a slice of German/Austrian cake without much luck, but here we found a rich mousse cake. We ordered our final drinks of the trip—a Tangueray Sevilla and tonic for Jeff, Salzburg Spritzer for Christine, and an Old Fashioned for me. We toasted the lovely night and the trip itself, lamenting at how quickly it yet again went by—how quickly it all goes by, really.

Doesn’t it?