Falkenstein

We are awake by seven thirty, outside it is a sunny morning, but our balcony is in shade, I introduce Michael to smoked salmon on rye toast with cream cheese for breakfast and it meets with his approval. Whilst David and I attend Mass, Michael has a walk to the end of the village and then arranges to meet up with us later. The church of Saint Wolfgang is famous both for it's relics and for its's altar piece decorations, David and I find a pew about halfway down the church and sit amongst the locals, who are all decked out in their best traditional dress. Surprisingly few join in the singing of hymns and although having some competence in German, I am unfamiliar with their hymnal, and unable to contribute much. The Pfarrer has a fine baritone, but despite his leadership, no one else feels able to join in. He delivers his sermon on the presence of the Holy Ghost, always and everywhere, unlimited by constraints of time and space and accessible to those who are open to receive it, in a clear, precise German, with a pleasant Austrian Inflection. The service ends with communion and I am surprised to find it has lasted just forty minutes. In some Catholic countries attendance at Mass seems to be more of a social convention, rather than a participation in religion. A little like the Church of England in the UK. Michael is waiting for us outside and we wander back to the apartments, past tables and chairs laid out in the street for Fruschoppen, the Germanic tradition of pre lunch drinks and conversation, accompanied here by local musicians. Back at the ranch, Irene is dressed and ready to go, so we decide to start with an easier walk, of about ten kilometres, around the lake to Saint Gilgen. Michael has brought four sets of walking poles and we set off at a brisk pace towards the Falkenstein, which we saw from the road on our way in, yesterday afternoon. It is noon now and the sun is shining out of a clear blue sky and feels quite hot, but not unpleasant, as there is a cooling breeze from the lake. We wander past lakeside villas and hotels, the balconies resplendent with their displays of geraniums, with David and Michael providing commentaries on the various places they have eaten in over the years. The climb to the Falkenstein starts with a steep 1:6 ascent up a metalled road for about 200m metres and soon has everyone perspiring and shedding clothing. Once the road ends and turns into track, the climb is more contoured and less steep, we pass lots of hikers coming from the direction of Saint Gilgen and return their customary greeting of "Gruss Gott" as we pass. Near the summit we have the option of climbing the last hundred feet or so on the limestone rock of the face and David and Michael choose to take this route, so Irene and I follow, I am wearing shorts, tee shirt and walking sandals, which are fine for the path, but less than ideal for a scramble over the rocks. Nevertheless the climb is worthwhile, with rustic benches on the summit, shaded by oaks and pines, giving a superb view over the lake. Along the way down are stations of the cross, as this route was used by religious pilgrims, in Medieval, times during Holy Week, who used to emulate the suffering of the Passion, by carrying a cross as they walked, or placing rough stones in their shoes, as a form of mortification. Beyond the summit, on our descent, we visit a little church in a grotto, on the side of the hill and light candles for Irene's Mother, who died this year and her father who passed away twenty years ago. The descent eventually brings us to an hotel at the Hochzeits Kreuz, ( Wedding Cross) and from here it is only three kilometres along the lakeside to Saint Gilgen. As we arrive the skies start to darken and we find shelter in an Italian ice cream parlour, opposite the Ferry Terminal and sit outside under a large umbrella just as a heavy shower drives other tourists from the streets. Michael and David order beers, but I have set my heart on a coffee and another apfel strudel, Irene just wants hot water. The drinks and cakes arrive and we wait out the shower, before catching the Ferry back to Reid, it actually stops at the Schafberg mountain railway, but that is less than half a mile from our flats. The ferry costs eight euros each and the trip lasts a little under half an hour, the rain holding off while we cross. Our meal last night turned out to be rather expensive, but worth every penny, so tonight I volunteer to make a salad Nicoise in our flat. Michael helps prepare the meal and we work well together, avoiding getting in each others way, and by eight o'clock everything is ready, just as Irene and David arrive bringing wine and a bottle of brandy, that has somehow made the trip from England. The meal is completed by ten, but the brandy and coffee continue past midnight and once again I am consuming glasses of water before bedtime. Our first day has been both eventful and enjoyable, hopefully the week will continue in a similar vein.