Austria

We eat breakfast at eight thirty and collect Michael from his flat in Fichte Strasse and are on our way to Austria by ten. Once on the autobahn heading towards Munich, Michael plugs in his sat nav, which promptly warns us of a traffic jam about fifteen miles ahead. Today is Whitsuntide Saturday and the equivalent of the Bank Holiday in England and large numbers are heading south, intent on going to Lake Garda, where the forecast for the week ahead is better south of the Alps. The traffic jam extends northwards rapidly and we are stuck within 100 metres of the autobahn exit, but fortunately the traffic crawls close enough for us to exit and make a 50 km detour around the problem. No sooner have we rejoined the motorway to the south when we are warned of another problem, just south of the Munich ring road, so we exit early and take A roads around the Cheimsee, a lovely large lake with the peaks of the mountains visible to the south. Around one o'clock we stop in a small village cafe and eat apple strudel and drink coffee on the terrace in the warm sunshine. After the break we continue on our way, arriving in the outskirts of Salzburg by half past two, where we promptly get lost. The sat nav seems incapable of directing us on any route, other than the motorway, and although we are only thirty miles from our destination, we eventually have to travel on the autobahn, without the necessary permit. We get away with it and soon we are climbing steadily through alpine meadows towards the Wofgangsee. Our first sight of the lake is from the road near Saint Gilgen, a picture postcard village on the northern shore, surrounded by  2,500m mountains, with snow covered peaks. To the south and east of Saint Gilgen is a yellow cliff face called the Falkenstein, (the falcon stone), which does indeed look like a falcon with its wings outstretched. We are staying in apartments in Reid, about a kilometre north of the village of Saint Wofgang and it takes another half hour to drive round the lake and arrive there, about four o'clock. The owner, Frau Leitner, shows us to our accomodation, Irene and David are in flat 3 and Michael and I in flat 4. Both have splendid views over the lake and large balconies, Michael opts to sleep in the lounge on the sofa bed and I in the rear bedroom. Once we have settled in, we walk into Saint Wolfgang to buy groceries, the village is very pretty and well catered for tourists and once again, most locals are dressed in traditional dress, lederhosen for men and dirndl dresses for women. We find a delicatessen and discover that it is due to close at six and not reopen until Tuesday, due to the Whitsuntide holiday, so we quickly buy groceries for the next few days. Michael tells us that the food is of excellent quality, but probably twice the price of the supermarket. Our shopping completed, just as the shop closes, our thoughts turn towards dinner. Across the square is an hotel, The White Bear, with a balcony bathed in evening sunshine, so we repair there to eat. Opposite the hotel is the church of Saint Wolfgang, in which relics of the eponymous Saint are interred and around the corner, the original White Horse Inn, of operetta fame and the location of a famous German film of the same name dating from the early 1960's. We manage to secure the last table on the balcony and are told by the other guests, most of whom are local inhabitants, that the town brass band will march into the square at eight o'clock and give a concert. There are a variety of dishes offering white asparagus on the menu, and we noticed on our way down that asparagus was being sold from numerous roadside farm shops, so I enquire of the waiter if it would be possible to have it as a starter. He returns within a minute to say yes and asks how we would like it served, Michael opts for asparagus with ham, Irene and David with sauce Hollandaise and I just with melted butter and black pepper. We also ask if we can defer ordering our main course until we see how filling the starters are. The asparagus arrives ten minutes later, thick white spears, cooked to perfection and accompanied by crusty white bread, my melted butter served in a small pewter jug. David orders a local Austrian white wine, a Gruner Veltiner, and we tuck into our starters. Waiting to see how full we were after the starter was a wise decision and we all order smaller main courses, I opt for the cheese spatzle, with roasted onions, (freshly made pasta noodles), which duly arrives, steaming hot, in a cast iron skillet. David has ordered a bottle of Austrian red wine with our main courses, which is also excellent and we have just finished eating when the band marches into the little square, accompanied by cheers and clapping from the large crowd, which has assembled in order to hear them. The sun has now set behind the church and it is distinctly chilly on the balcony, but the locals soon avail themselves of fleecy blankets, that are rolled up and stacked near the door to the hotel. We follow suit, and enjoy the music, mostly marches and waltzes by Strauss, sipping wine, wrapped in our blankets, until the concert finishes around ten. We then wander happily back to our apartments, carrying our shopping bags, pausing only to determine the time of Mass at the church in the morning. The service is at ten thirty. We return home, put the shopping away and turn in for eleven, after a long but enjoyable first day in Austria.