The next day began in what was becoming a standard fashion: a walk to a train station. Actually, before that, we took advantage of the hotel’s breakfast room, and at the Hotel Mastino (the one beside McDonald’s in Verona), you get more than your average continental. There was an array of baffling coffee machines, a samovar with warmish water, and other contraptions such as one of those toasters that take half an hour to do half a toast, lukewarm eggs and bacon, and so on. But they also had fresh honeycomb and other things of interest, so we fed ourselves up on as much as we needed, packed the bags, and checked out, ready for the next stage of the journey.
We’d had on our list of things to see, ‘Juliette’s Balcony’, because, of course, we were In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, but, I suspect at around the 99% level, that the much advertised (and soon pay-to-view) balcony is another tourist board scam, like Bran Caste/Dracula’s Castle (more about that in the future). So, we hadn’t bothered with that and were once again on our way to somewhere else. This time, Innsbruck.
Why?
You mean, why were we visiting one of the top winter sports locations in Europe? Was it for the skiing? No, there hadn’t been as much snow as usual (global warming but no-one listening, was the cause, they said), and we had no intention of throwing ourselves off the famous Birgisel Ski Jump in the manner of Eddie the Beagle, or whoever – although Jenine did try to impersonate a ski jumper while on the Innsbruck station platform, with the jump distant behind her. However, with knees tucked and butt out, she looked like she was trying to pass a Käsekrainer and much hilarity ensued, although you can probably imagine the indignant complaints of ‘Mum! What are you doing? Stop it…’ from the teen.
We were going there because it was on our way to somewhere else, and we knew there would be snow and mountains – two things a young man growing up solely on Symi doesn’t see and hadn’t seen. Also, for me, a journey through the Brenner Pass sounded romantic. I don’t know why, but it sounds like something from an adventure, a Lord of the Rings kind of thing, where Legoman the elf says, ‘The sun shines this morning; there has been nighttime this night. We must take the pass of Breen.’
‘No!”’ thunders Grandelf. ‘We must risk the Pass of Brenner.’
Well, there was no risk, just miles of scenery none of us had seen before, snow on mountain peaks, amazing engineering on high road bridges and small villages by the grey-water streams alongside the tracks. In three and a half hours, the 9.01 from Verona took us all the way along the 271 Km route to the surprisingly interesting town of Innsbruck. I’d only driven past it before, on my own youthful Grand Tour back in the 90s, and from that, I remembered only office blocks and the usual stack-‘em-high housing. Things, in the centre of town, were and still are very different.
There was plenty to see, but after dumping our bags at the ‘Basic Hotel’, we set off immediately for the point of the day; the funicular and cable car up to Nordkette, also known as the Top of Innsbruck, though the very top was closed. We followed Harry the Map along the riverbank, over the road, around some stunning Baroque and Classical buildings, to a horrible modern thing which was the start of the route up the mountain, and about half an hour later, there we were, above the snowline.
That sounds awfully knowledgeable, doesn’t it? As if we were experienced mountaineers, retelling acts of great derring-do to a packed lecture hall. ‘We were above the snowline watching the spindrift coming off the summit of Piz Buin in the Silvretta Alps, and considering who would make the summit team…’
Yeah. No.
Neil and Harry grabbed the first available sledge, joined the queue of little’uns waiting to scream their way down 100 feet of snowy slope, then made snowballs and attacked each other with squeals and swear words. Jenine and I considered the view, the clean air and an Aperol Spritz.
It was one of those days when we were ‘lucky with the weather’, and there were to be many more. Although when you see the photos taken from the almost-top of the mountain, it looks cloudy and grey, that was all part of the spectacle. “The sun was white, as though chidden of God”, as Hardy wrote, setting a gloomy scene which doesn’t suit my scene, but allows me to show off that I know at least one line of poetry by Hardy. It wasn’t too windy, either, or even too cold (ha ha), and, later in the trip, we would have snow when it mattered, and the weather would be clear on other days. Watch out for blue skies in future posts. [Inserts winky emoji]
Lunch outside at 7,000 feet isn’t as bad as it sounds, and the soups and stews were spot on, and the cable car and funicular weren’t too busy, despite this being high winter season (because of Christmas rather than skiing, I suspect). Later, back at sea level, we were able to change and prepare for the evening, and while Neil and I were out searching for a pharmacy — I can’t remember what for; ChapStick, non-allergenic soap, warmth maybe — we received a message from the B Team to be back at the hotel by five, because they had a surprise for us. Eek.
The surprise began as a pleasant walk through the dusky streets, beside the Christmas market, through older streets and finally, to a large square and an even larger cathedral. The eighteenth-century Baroque cathedral of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Innsbruck, dedicated to the apostle Saint James, and known also as the Dom. St. Jakob. Why there? The reason was about to become clear, but first, there’s some backstory…
Yesterday in Venice, we took a peek inside a large church (I forget which one already), where I told H to ‘Come with me and don’t look back.’ We walked up the aisle towards the apse, and about halfway along, stopped, and I told him to turn around. That, for me, is the best way to see a church/cathedral; organ when one has been built up in the west gallery – and it was a reasonable sight. (See above.) In return, he’d looked for a similar sight in Innsbruck, and found the cathedral was open until six. When we entered, he said, ‘Follow me and don’t look back.’ This view was just as stunning, if not more so, as the Baroque instrument was a riot of silver and gold. Not only that, but an orchestra was practicing for a concert, and we sat and listened to some free classical music while admiring the architecture.
And I thought Innsbruck was just office blocks.
On the way to the Dom, we’d crossed a road, and I’d noticed a man carrying a tuba, as you do, and, in the cathedral, I wondered if he was then up in the gallery tuberign away, but it wasn’t tuba-suited music. Later, though, while wandering the – you guessed it – Christmas market, we discovered a four-piece brass band playing from the gallery of The Goldenes Dachl (Golden Roof), so that was what tuba man was all about. More free music, this time seasonal, including Austrian carols, and we could have stood and listened for ages, except…
Of course, when you have a teen in tow, you can never be far from food, and it was that time of day again. A hearty dinner served by unbelievably cheery staff considering they were run off their feet, a slow walk back to the Basic Hotel, and time to put the feet up and watch Indiana Jones dubbed into Austrian before falling asleep.
I have to say, the Basic Hotel in Innsbruck is designed to be, clearly, basic, but it had everything we needed, was very clean, had towels and soaps, and TV, etc., and was hardly basic at all. It had its quirks. Like the lip between the bathroom and the bedroom, which caught us tripping a few times, and the smoked glass pattern on the bath/bedroom dividing wall wasn’t completely smoked. One assumes this is so kinky guests can spy on their companions in the shower, and the really perverse ones can do the same with toilet occupation. I don’t know, but then, we were in Austria.
And would remain in Austria the next day too, as you will read…
Meanwhile, here’s the gallery.
