Tag: Austria

One of the main reasons we chose to live in Sweden was not Sweden at all. It was Europe itself and the opportunity to take a weekend in Berlin, discover the beaches of southern France or experience a family ski holiday in the Alps – not the Disney version or the over-priced California mega-resort version, but the real Alps, covered in snow, twinkling with real half-timbered, Old World charm.

 

Like good Americans, we want to do it all, which means, unfortunately, as we have settled into the reality of actually living in Europe; we will need to explore Europe budget style, including all the aspects of shoe-string traveling — planning ahead, packing a few lunches, staying at little-family run hotels and, in some cases, driving ourselves.

When Kip began researching budget options for family skiing, one thing became clear to him; Austria is a good deal. We looked at several options and settled on Mayrhofen, a small Tirol town with a massive ski resort and enough lodging variety to stay in whatever level of luxury a skier’s wallet allows.

 

We rented skis, got multi-day passes and stayed in a small family-run hotel for far less than we would have spent in Tahoe, Mammoth or even Big Bear for that matter. In fact, at around 80 Euros ($90) a night for lodging including breakfast for three people and 140 Euros ($172) for an adult, 3-day ski lift, it was far cheaper than a California ski vacation. Of course, with European gas taxes, the big price tag is the gasoline to get there. Priced around 1.34 Euros per liter, its not too shocking until you do the math and realize its about $6.25 a gallon.

I’m not a great skier. I learned to ski as an adult. I took a few random, isolated lessons at Mount Baldy one winter and Yosemite another, but my real skiing education began a few years ago on the slushy slopes of Mountain High, just 80 miles East of LA, overlooking the smog-filled Antelope Valley. For a few consecutive seasons I took my kids up to Wrightwood every January for a weekday school special that included a lesson and six weekly ski lift tickets. The persistent California drought inevitably caused the season to be cut short, and by the end of February we were skiing over gravel and watching the ski runs revert into mud and brown grass.

The kids fell in love with the mountain sport those years, Micah with skiing, River, snowboarding; but I never really progressed much beyond the wobble of a beginner. I learned how to navigate the beginner hill, how to gracefully disembark from a ski lift, and, most importantly, how to pep talk myself down a steeper slope. It was here that I learned the surprising truth that if I actively avoided imagining myself wiping out, my chances of staying upright were greatly increased.

So it was not without apprehension that I took the gondola up the Alpine mountain to the ski slopes our first day in Mayrhofen. By the end of the day I realized I needed to put myself in remedial school. I bought a pass for the kiddie slope and spent a few hours there the second day reforming my  don’t-get-in-my-way-or-we-might-both-die to a respectable beginner’s stance. By the end of day three I was enjoying the blue runs, although it did not take much to talk me into a beer and apple strudel stop at the mountain top lodge.  Yes, they go together.

After our three days skiing in Mayrhofen we took the long road through Austria back towards Germany, stopping for coffee, stopping to run up random snow-covered mountain roads, stopping to take pictures of small towns we want to return to.

Road trips are defined by the driving but remember by the stopping.

Our goal was to get to Hallstatt, possibly one of the most picturesque mountain villages ever built, but we arrived at sunset and ended up exploring the mostly closed historic district in the fading daylight. Like so many places quickly passed through, it left us with a longing to come back and see and taste and be.

From Austria we drove through the Czech Republic.

Once again arriving just before sunset, we walked around a historic area of Prague, sampling a taste of all that city has to offer — history, music, art, good food and beer. It was freezing beyond what I would have ever been able to handle a year ago, but somehow it was still fun to be out on a Saturday night, exploring a new place together, and I was left with the impression that we really should return to Prague — maybe in the summer next time.

 

After a few short hours we were back on the road, this time driving as far as Berlin where we stayed at an unmemorable chain motel. It made me appreciate all of the little family run pensions we stayed at along the way.

The next morning Kip was disappointed to discover that almost all grocery stores are closed in Germany on Sundays; so we drove to Sassnitz without loading up on cheap German beer, took a choppy ferry back to Sweden and were home for an early bedtime before school started back on Monday morning — grateful to be home, grateful to have gone on an adventure.