Well there was only one fly with an umbrella in the 30 degree heat of Kitzbuhel this afternoon, there being no Asian girls to keep me company as at UQ. (There are however, many flies, this being sheep and cattle country). When I set off to walk into the centre of the village with my umbrella, Hanni, the proprietress of the Gasthaus, indicated that it would not rain. I explained I was protecting myself from the sun. She gazed at me in perplexity. The sun is our friend, she exclaimed. Not for the fly. She was fascinated to be meeting someone with experience of ‘Hautkrebs’ –skin cancer – completely outside her thought world.
To get from Munich to Kitzbuhel, fly had booked passage on a taxi-bus service recommended by the Language School organisers. Waiting at the Munich hotel at 9am, all packed and ready, no bus. Finally rang bus service, and they had tried to pick me up in Kitzbuhel!, I had a printout voucher, saying Mercure Hotel, Freising, Munchen, 9am etc, but they insisted I had it wrong. They would take me to Kitzbuhel but would charge me double, to cover for the mistake. No they would not said the fly. After discussions involving head office, they brought me to Kitzbuhel, no double charge.
The trip was longish – huge traffic getting out of Munich, even on a Sunday. But once into the hills (mountains?) it was beautiful, the chocolate box scenes one expects. Beautiful weather, blue skies, hot (30 degrees), Ireland only ever got to 17. People out walking and sunning themselves everywhere. They know nothing of slip, slop, slap here. No hats, no sleeves, and very heavy tans, both men and women. They have to get their Vitamin D while they can, presumably.
Housing is the typical Tyrolean chalet, all absolutely laden with flowers. Geraniums, petunias, nasturtiums, sometimes thematically coloured, sometimes just a riotous mix. It seems the balconies are overburdened with the profusion. One thing, those people in early Quebec who needed several savage winters to work out that eaves were a good thing on the roof had obviously never been to the snow country in Europe. Buildings here all feature very generous eaves. Another interesting thing – the front door ‘mat’ is in fact a metal grill over a shallow pit – you scrape off the snow and it just goes down and flows away.
My ‘Gasthaus’ is run by Hanni (Johanna) and Sebastian Oberhauser. (pic in the folder) It is their home, and Sebastian informed me they have been married fifty years next January. Neither speaks English, but we muddle on well enough. During the winter their guests are here for the snow sports, in summer the hiking etc.
Walking about the town after unpacking (so good to unpack everything, this is a two-week stop-over), fly was impressed by:
Ringing church bells for Sunday evening Mass (how long since church bells have been heard at home?)
Cobbled streets filled with expensive wheels (Lotus, Porsche, etc etc).
People seated in cafes smoking
Everyone greets everyone, with ‘Gruss Gott’. (In Munich, it was just ‘Morgen’) .
7pm, and the Language School Director, Hans, collected two of us from this Gasthaus, and three others from nextdoor; we had a ‘speak German only’ dinner. We are only five on the course: a retired paediatrician from Santa Rosa, California (the only male); a lovely Italian woman from Rome; a five-days-retired history teacher from Leicester; and an also just retired Manager from the Bank of Ireland. (Not the bank, she assured me, blamed for the collapse of the Irish economy. That was the Anglo-Ireland Bank). We have varying degrees of competency, the American and the Italian being the best. Nevertheless, conversation flowed, with the help of the Director, who speaks English, German, French, Russian and Italian. (He is Austrian, born in what was the Russian sector after WWII).
Work to start Monday 9am with a test!!!
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