Trembling in Tyrol

Once again a late decision finds me back in Austria, this time at the Hotel Park in Sankt Johann in Tyrol. The flight was uneventful but did flag up a small warning, the cloud on the horizon no bigger than a man's fist, actually a cloud covering most of Austria. When combined with "Those on the right hand side of the plane should get a good view of the Alps" you may gather that the weather was      changing. Another of Martin Schumaker's cousins was driving the, somewhat bijou, minibus, but we arrived without capsizing.
The evening was spent digesting pork, mulched with red wine; and pussyfooting round the new bathroom trying not to break the shower doors with either the toilet (L) or the washbasin (R). Sleeping was tricky until I muffled the road with earplugs, this later proved not to be unnecessary as I muffled the road with red wine.

Day one.
Rep's orientation, usual stuff, "This is where we have the Tyrolean evening - eight euro. I love working in St Johann so why not go on the daytrip to Salzburg, or Krimml Falls, or Berchtesgarden where you can have your photo taken standing next to Hitler, 43 euros." And then he said "if you go down the river for 20 minutes you get to Kirchdorf and 40 minutes will get you to Erpfendorf where there's a lovely gorge walk."
So it was that my ears having been pricked, I set off for the gorge. After an hour I was on the outskirts of Kirchdorf, where I gave up and struck off up the hillside under the Kirchdorf chair before contouring round passing the most amazing golden fungi. Now in Austria there's always a little game to play, the sign says X 45 minutes, so you (ahem) clock your watch and try and get there in less, normally I'm still hale enough to do this, but was discomfited by the sign which said "St Johann 45 min" pointing through some gloopy woodland, which I negotiated with only one wet foot, emerging 15 minutes later next to a sign that said, "St Johann 45 min". The evening was spent  meeting the other tables, and then it was time for the rep's quiz, my first question, "Lewis, how long does it take to get to Kirchdorf?"
"About 40 minutes."
My second question,
"Why did you say 20?"
"I never said that."
Vociferous round of approbation from all who heard him say that.
"Oh! Umm do you want to do the quiz?"
The seven of us did, checking any answers that involved numbers, much ear mufflers were drunk.

Day 2.

A Gedankenzaun

A man is standing three quarters of the way up a small mountain, sweat is pouring off his grey hair, and his adrenal gland is dying of thirst, his glasses mist up on an irregular basis, and he still can't decide if this is a good or bad thing. To his right there is steep mixed woodland, to his left there is NOTHING, empty space, the void (actually about 200 metres of void), a lovely view across the valley to the Kitzbuhler Horn, an uninterrupted view, none of that boring old ground or anything, if it is interrupted it is by things with wings. I was three-quarters of the way up the Neiderkaiser, a ridge that separates St Johann from the Wildekaiser. The cloudy weather had sent me away from the Kitzbuhler alp, which of course, was now waving to me from across the valley, so I had picked out this relatively easy ridge walk, it was just that, instead of zig-zagging up the slope, the path-setters had decided it was more exciting to send it straight up the slope. To be fair the going up wasn't affecting me that badly, the tree roots that looked like slippery deathtraps weren't, it was the prospect of going down the same route - when they would be! My ascent had been up a route featuring the stages of the Cross, when I got to "Jesus falls for the third time" I sympathised. A third of the way up there was the Gimml chapel, a small cave with half a rococo chapel bolted onto the ledge in front of it, I decided the Gimml was probably a contraction of "Gott und Himmel", an epithet used a lot during the construction, I surmised, it was certainly used a lot by the hapless Germans in the Valiant. Anyway from there the slope steepened and the LHS disappeared. I eventually summited and found blessed relief in a forestry road, that added on the miles but took away the verticality, sadly this eventually took me back to the river, where it took me more than 20 minutes to get back home.

Bloody careless I call it!

In the evening I had to write a condolences letter, the Irish barmaid gave me some notepaper and a postage paid envelope (and a pint and a schnapps [that she failed to tell me cost 8 bucks]), due to the influence of acoustic baffling it proved an emotionally hard letter to write, so at this point I must have lost my presence of mind, as instead of finding a post box, I handed the envelope to the Manager asking him to make sure it went in the post.
"Sure" he said opening a drawer, "Do you want me to charge the stamp to your room?"