To the Schwarzsee and Strobl.

After a good breakfast we set off from our apartment around ten o'clock for a walk to the Schwarzsee, about ten kilometres away and not too far from Strobl, the village that sits at the other end of the lake from St Gilgen. After an initial steep climb alongside and then over the Schafbergbahn railway line, we retrace our route from Tuesday evening, past the water mill and up to the woods. Here we follow a path along a rocky ridge amongst the trees, that runs parallel to the lake, although about five hundred feet above it. It is a bright but cloudy morning, alternating between bright sunshine and the threat of a shower. In fact a typical spring day. Soon the track leads us onto a farm road above St Wolfgang and we are walking with alpine meadows to either side of us, resplendent with spring wildflowers, the grass tall and, as yet, unmowed. We pass several farm houses, with large cords of firewood stacked against their sides, until the road turns left, uphill and back into the forest again. It is easy walking today and I have taken off my cagoule and sweater, which are tied around my waist. By lunchtime we have arrived at the Schwarzsee, (black lake), a sign says it is a four kilometre walk around it, and two small rustic cafes are situated on the eastern end. Irene and David opt to stay in one of the cafes, while Michael and I make a circumnavigation. It should take us an hour. The walking is level and easy and the lake is relatively unexploited, apart from the cafes, the only the other people we see, as we make our way round, are some fishermen, angling below a rock face. One of the signs we pass indicates that there is a circular walk of 41km around the Schafberg, exactly marathon distance and I ponder whether this route is used for the Ironman Triathlon, that is held in the summer every year, and starts with a 1500m swim in the Wolfgangsee. We have hardly scratched the surface of the area's potential for walking during our week here and I definitely intend to return in the future and explore further. It also seems to me that these long distance, level paths, would be ideal for cross country skiing. We complete the walk round the lake in an hour and join Irene and David, who are sat outside the cafe, David predictably enjoying a beer, Michael joins him and also orders a sandwich, whilst I continue my comparative analysis of apfel strudel and coffee, invariably asking for it serving cold, rather than the traditional practice of heating it. The landlady is dressed in a dirndl and looks typically Austrian, she can't be a day under seventy, a well built lady with tanned skin and auburn hair. She is also a ferocious saleswoman and tries to upsell everyone's order, including Irene, who as usual, wants hot water. "Would she like, milk, lemon, tea with that, perhaps a cake or a sandwich", she enquires, but no I explain, just hot water, and then tell her about my cousin's unfortunate early dementia. Her attitude changes in an instant and she is kind and attentive. Later, when I enquire about cross country skiing in winter, she tells me the snow is two metres deep and the road impassable. She also tells us she has lived here since childhood and had to make the journey to school through the woods in winter and goes on to explain that because of the cold spring it has been a disappointing year for tourists so far. The wealthy Germans can easily consider the weather forecast and if the northern Alps are disappointing, a further four hour drive can take them to Italy and the south. The forecast for Whitsuntide here was poor, indicating the onset of cold showery weather from Tuesday. So far we have defied the odds, having had showers but, as yet, no really cold weather. After lunch we resume our walk and head downhill towards Strobl, the path takes us down through the woods, that presumably the landlady used to follow on her way to school, it is harder work than walking on the road, but infinitely easier than Michael and I's descent of the Schafberg. We emerge into a meadow, that leads us to the main road around the Wolfgangsee, which we cross and then follow the path to a rocky forested, hill that overlooks Strobl. Eventually the path leads to a boardwalk that has been affixed to the limestone, to our right the waters of the lake are shallow and clear and we can see trout rising to take flies that scoot along the surface. Here and there, along the boardwalk, are little benches where tourists and walkers can enjoy the sun and the view. As we approach the village, David points out a camp site on the far side of the village and tells me that in summer the place is packed and that a seaplane lands and takes off from here for tourist flights. There is also a banana boat to tow swimmers, it sounds like fun but I am glad it isn't yet summer and enjoy the peace and tranquility. We arrive in Strobl at five and find most of the hotels and restaurants are closed, so we opt to take the ferry back to the apartment and visit the White Bear again for dinner, as they served the best food we have eaten on our holiday. The ferry arrives at a quarter past five and I buy four tickets to Reid, only remembering later that I should have asked for the Schafbergbahn, which is a stop earlier. The weather has started to turn cooler, but with our coats on, it is still pleasant sitting on the top deck,r as the little boat zigzags across the lake stopping at various points, including Saint Wofgang, where we have a clear view of Der Weisse Rossl, (The White Horse Inn), which has a splendid terrace and a small heated swimming pool. We opt to stay on the boat when it docks at the Schafbergbahn and walk back from Reid Falkenburg, the next stop, adding a further kilometre to our apartment, but it is easy walking along the lakeside, with boat houses to our right and hotels, restaurants and villas to our left. We arrive home for seven o'clock and reconvene at eight, after a shower and change of clothes for dinner. It starts to rain steadily as we walk into town, but we each have an umbrella and arrive at the White Bear relatively dry. At first we think the restaurant is closed, obviously no one is sat on the verandah in the rain, but there are no customers inside either. A young girl, who looks no older than sixteen, is manning the reception desk and she smiles, assures us the restaurant is open, guides us to a window table and takes our order for drinks, returning moments later with the menu's. Remembering our dinner from Saturday, we each take advantage of the specials, all of which include the superb, local, white asparagus. Tonight I opt for the pork and asparagus with Hollandaise sauce and despite the lack of trade the food is once again superb. David orders a bottle of the local white wine and I notice how the young waitress is trembling as she pours our glasses. She is holding the fort, at front of house, on her own, handling reception, bar and restaurant, probably on the assumption that no one would come in after eight. We finish our meal around ten o'clock, congratulate our waitress on her multi tasking skills and leave her a generous tip, before making our way back through the rain to our accomodation, passing the Michael Pacher House, where a concert of excerpts from operettas is being held tomorrow. David, Irene and I intend to go, but Michael doesn't fancy it. We have had another good day, Michael and I walking some twenty five kilometres, albeit mostly level and easy walking and the rain holding off until this evening.