In which Sid and Doris take the road less traveled and see Alpine wildlife.
Wheels are made for rollin’, Mercs are made to pack and we are living under a three pointed wandrin’ star.
We have enjoyed Sud Tirol and do not throw away the map. There are business name delights like the Rottenburger and the Pantagruel which we are sorry to leave.
We have chosen the direct route to Innsbruck, Austria, over the Pens Pass and then the old Brenner road. It gets cold and we dress up and rev up Hermann’s heater. This is the sort of thing the Alvis – and the humans in the Alvis – will have to take in their stride. Though much of this road is restricted to 43.496 mph we finally make the 2211 metre summit in good style, in the company of bikers.
There is a craze across Italy and possibly wider for putting club stickers on pass and border signs. We can tell you someone from the Fort Collins Colorado Sons of Silence bike club has been here, and we drive away musing on the design for Hermann’s future stickers.
Crossing into Austria there are no border formalities but the border itself is a most peculiar jumble of factory outlets and petrol stations – like a drive-through version of that compulsory march through World Duty Free that you have to do in the airport. Perhaps Donald Trump is missing an opportunity to commercialise his Great Wall of Mexico.
We emerge, slightly mentally battered, into the picture postcard that is Austria, and in an attempt to avoid cliches we consult the Michelin Green Guide to Innsbruck. Please see the small print on the snapshot of the Guide to your left…
Doris looks up briefly to see a road sign which offers travellers the choice to Natter, Mutter or go to Innsbruck. It reminds us that there are villages near Bishop’s Stortford called Nasty and Ugley.
We glide into the old town past a rather odd looking ski-jump (a “legacy” from a previous Winter Olympics), Baroque arches and 21st century trams and are early into Das Innsbruck Hotel.
Turning into their car park we discover to our intense pleasure that when the gate opens there is a lift that takes us down to -2.
Hermann has become James Bond as he descends into the Secret Cavern.
Innsbruck has much imperial past having been part of Bavaria, of the Austro Hungarian Empire, Germany and now part of a cross border Austro/Italian Tirol region within the EU. We make our way to the Alpen Zoo past art growing out of old cars as well as a fine Gothic Revival church with mosaics and war memorials for the parish from both 14-18 and 39-45. And check out this Palestinian Tirol scene.
The Alpen Zoo curators take the Alps to stretch in an arc from Nice to Vienna. The first enclosure is for beavers, four adults and two kits who are all tumbled together in their lodge where we can see them through the one way glass, next to a sign that says “Our beaver family is nocturnal, please do not tap on the glass”. It looks like it would take something more significant than a light tap to waken them.
We also see polecats, and pine martens which convinces us we saw a juvenile on our walk yesterday. We see all the chamois, roe deer and ibex that in the wild know to keep well clear while the monkeys trample past. See also moose, wolves and wild cat. We have spent a lot of time in European mountains and never yet seen a marmot, and we still haven’t. The bear has got a repeat track running in its head which is sad to see in a modern zoo. We go back to check on The Silk’s family at the end: still out of it.
We sit in the hotel to blog our diary to the sound of a modern player piano, which is ingenious and a pleasant change from some of our dinner muzak.
As ever we aim to eat local. We have a small cheat and eat at the Nepali Everest. Well it’s all mountain fare. And we have been to Everest so it is local but later. Although we are mildly surprised to be served deep fried gnome.
