IN TRANSIT FROM TURIN TO CARINTHIA
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| Faaker lake, public beach |
We entered the train station of Salbertrand with the hope of purchasing a train ticket to go to Susa. Two employees of the train company, Trenitalia, were chatting on the quay number one, enjoying the morning sun on a bench. We enquired about ticket purchase. They looked at us and said that we couldn't buy it at the station but we shouldn't worry, we could just buy it on the train, in the front coach.
The train came, we boarded and walked towards the front. After crossing several coaches, we decided that we might as well sit down and wait for the train controller to come over to us and purchase our tickets from him. A few tunnels later we arrived at our destination without having met any train staff. It was the small station of Mea Susa, about two kilometers away from the town of Susa, which had been recommended to us as a town with a lot of history. Indeed.
The roman Arch of Augustus is still standing on the heights of Susa, not far, along the old Gallic road, from the arena where two thousand years ago gladiators used to fight to death to entertain local citizens. Over the years the arena has been neglected, buried under layers of waste until its excavation in the 1970s. Susa has more history to share with its 16th century buildings, a castle now converted into a museum, the beautiful cathedral of San Giusto which was built against one of the round towers of the older Savoy Gate dating from the 2nd century AD. The juxtaposition of style made me think of modern rehabilitation projects of old buildings with glass and steel structures. The latest addition to the town's history are the shops selling alcohol to French tourists who come to enjoy for a day trip, not only a picturesque town and some Italian food, but also a lower tax on alcoholic beverages than in France. Actually the shops had labels and promotional signboards written in French to make sure the target audience would not be confused by the use of Italian. The shop themselves had French names like " Chez Burdin", "Chez Zizi". French language could be heard at every street corners of the town on this market day. Restaurants were nearly all full at lunchtime, sometimes unable to cope with the demand. After a nice lunch we proceeded to the train station without further delay as a storm was about to break over the town. This time an automatic ticket selling machine allowed us to purchase our tickets to Turin. The journey was rather unexciting as the train traversed suburban and industrial landscapes turned grey by the rain and through which we had absolutely no remorse not to be walking.
The air was still fairly hot as we reached Turin's central station. We had booked a hotel at the Eastern limit of the city centre. The delimitation was clear, inner-city streets were lined-up with buildings from the 19th century with stone facades adorned with stone carvings and arcades at street level. The center of Turin has eighteen kilometres of arcades, an impressive number of palaces and churches, testimonies of the rich past of Torino. Most palaces were built in the 17th and 18th centuries. The city really has the asset of a European capital - its used to be where the Kings of Savoy resided. It is close to the Alps, France and of course the Po river which links the city to a large and fertile agricultural area and to the sea.
In this second half of August, most people were still away on summer vacation. The city was in sleep mode, only tourists and a few local residents could be seen on the hot streets. Most businesses, restaurants, bars would be closed until the end of the month. It felt like August in Paris. That feeling was also stemming from the architectural unity of the city, reminding in some ways the large Parisian boulevard opened by Haussmann. Surprisingly the city plan of the center is a grid with most streets crossing at right angle.
On the advice of a group of people we had met at the rifugio Gardetta, we went to the hill of Superga to get a good view of the town. Superga is a landmark in Turin because the hill is five hundred meters above the city and topped by a white Basilica where the Savoys have traditionally been buried in the royal crypt. By clear weather one can see the Alps in the background. One sees also the Po river meandering through its plain. and the large area occupied by Fiat factories.
Then there is the emblematic building of Torino, the Mole Antonelliana Tower which hosts the National Cinema Museum. It is the only skyscraper in the very center of the city, 167 meters high. It was completed in 1889 pretty much at the same time as the Eiffel Tower
We really enjoyed coming to this city after our month long walk through the Italian Alps! It was like coming back to civilization after a long meditative diet of lonely walks in the beautiful Alps. Now we were again riding trains, buses and subways. Despite the holidays, one could find all one needed, even a laundromat where we spent two hours dressed in our rain clothes exclusively to be able to wash anything else we had.
Somehow we didn't find the strength to visit the Egyptian Museum, which is said to be the second best after Cairo's. We just enjoyed walking on the streets, stopping for coffee or an ice-cream, watching people around us, shop windows, architecture. The piazza San Carlo, built in 1637, is now the equivalent of Paris' Place Vendôme or Avenue Montaigne with all luxury brands having to have a shop-front there. When we saw a storefront pasted with a huge poster featuring high heels red shoes whose heels had the shape of an ice cream cone, we knew we were definitely in Italy.
We followed recommendations for a few restaurants. On the fancy side, we tried a Sicilian sushi bar, Oinos, which does a fusion of Sicilian and Japanese dishes paired with wines. On our way there, we had walked along the quays of the Po river where a few bars had set-up shop. There was one around innovation, claiming that its cocktails were prepared by a robot, put on a sort of throne dramatically behind the bar in the entrance hall. The robot could be seen, if prompted, preparing the cocktails that it had been programmed to execute. The following night, we went to Le Antiche Sere, a traditional piemontese restaurant located in a back street of Cernishia, a residential area not to far from the center. We arrived a bit early, the bar room was obviously still not furnished as it normally was because the room had only two tables in a corner, revealing the beige and brown chequered-tiles of the floor. The bar itself was made of wood, probably crafted a century ago, it was fully covered with a large model of the Mole Antonelliana next to which two plastic Teddy Bears framed a collection of wine bottles ranked from the taller to the smaller. The owner offered us a drink while they were getting ready. The menu was yet to be hand-written. It was the day the restaurant had just reopened. A waitress excused herself for wearing a jogging sweater, she had just come back from a holiday in France that very afternoon. Customers seemed to ignore the blood-thirsty mosquitoes while seating in the garden under a vine arbour. Soon the place was full and lively. The reopening had been longed for. On my part, I was blessed with a lovely Osso Bucco (veal shank with a wine and green peas sauce) and a nice Barbera d'Asti Galileo. It had been a successful evening.
The roman Arch of Augustus is still standing on the heights of Susa, not far, along the old Gallic road, from the arena where two thousand years ago gladiators used to fight to death to entertain local citizens. Over the years the arena has been neglected, buried under layers of waste until its excavation in the 1970s. Susa has more history to share with its 16th century buildings, a castle now converted into a museum, the beautiful cathedral of San Giusto which was built against one of the round towers of the older Savoy Gate dating from the 2nd century AD. The juxtaposition of style made me think of modern rehabilitation projects of old buildings with glass and steel structures. The latest addition to the town's history are the shops selling alcohol to French tourists who come to enjoy for a day trip, not only a picturesque town and some Italian food, but also a lower tax on alcoholic beverages than in France. Actually the shops had labels and promotional signboards written in French to make sure the target audience would not be confused by the use of Italian. The shop themselves had French names like " Chez Burdin", "Chez Zizi". French language could be heard at every street corners of the town on this market day. Restaurants were nearly all full at lunchtime, sometimes unable to cope with the demand. After a nice lunch we proceeded to the train station without further delay as a storm was about to break over the town. This time an automatic ticket selling machine allowed us to purchase our tickets to Turin. The journey was rather unexciting as the train traversed suburban and industrial landscapes turned grey by the rain and through which we had absolutely no remorse not to be walking.
The air was still fairly hot as we reached Turin's central station. We had booked a hotel at the Eastern limit of the city centre. The delimitation was clear, inner-city streets were lined-up with buildings from the 19th century with stone facades adorned with stone carvings and arcades at street level. The center of Turin has eighteen kilometres of arcades, an impressive number of palaces and churches, testimonies of the rich past of Torino. Most palaces were built in the 17th and 18th centuries. The city really has the asset of a European capital - its used to be where the Kings of Savoy resided. It is close to the Alps, France and of course the Po river which links the city to a large and fertile agricultural area and to the sea.
In this second half of August, most people were still away on summer vacation. The city was in sleep mode, only tourists and a few local residents could be seen on the hot streets. Most businesses, restaurants, bars would be closed until the end of the month. It felt like August in Paris. That feeling was also stemming from the architectural unity of the city, reminding in some ways the large Parisian boulevard opened by Haussmann. Surprisingly the city plan of the center is a grid with most streets crossing at right angle.
On the advice of a group of people we had met at the rifugio Gardetta, we went to the hill of Superga to get a good view of the town. Superga is a landmark in Turin because the hill is five hundred meters above the city and topped by a white Basilica where the Savoys have traditionally been buried in the royal crypt. By clear weather one can see the Alps in the background. One sees also the Po river meandering through its plain. and the large area occupied by Fiat factories.
Then there is the emblematic building of Torino, the Mole Antonelliana Tower which hosts the National Cinema Museum. It is the only skyscraper in the very center of the city, 167 meters high. It was completed in 1889 pretty much at the same time as the Eiffel Tower
We really enjoyed coming to this city after our month long walk through the Italian Alps! It was like coming back to civilization after a long meditative diet of lonely walks in the beautiful Alps. Now we were again riding trains, buses and subways. Despite the holidays, one could find all one needed, even a laundromat where we spent two hours dressed in our rain clothes exclusively to be able to wash anything else we had.
Somehow we didn't find the strength to visit the Egyptian Museum, which is said to be the second best after Cairo's. We just enjoyed walking on the streets, stopping for coffee or an ice-cream, watching people around us, shop windows, architecture. The piazza San Carlo, built in 1637, is now the equivalent of Paris' Place Vendôme or Avenue Montaigne with all luxury brands having to have a shop-front there. When we saw a storefront pasted with a huge poster featuring high heels red shoes whose heels had the shape of an ice cream cone, we knew we were definitely in Italy.
We followed recommendations for a few restaurants. On the fancy side, we tried a Sicilian sushi bar, Oinos, which does a fusion of Sicilian and Japanese dishes paired with wines. On our way there, we had walked along the quays of the Po river where a few bars had set-up shop. There was one around innovation, claiming that its cocktails were prepared by a robot, put on a sort of throne dramatically behind the bar in the entrance hall. The robot could be seen, if prompted, preparing the cocktails that it had been programmed to execute. The following night, we went to Le Antiche Sere, a traditional piemontese restaurant located in a back street of Cernishia, a residential area not to far from the center. We arrived a bit early, the bar room was obviously still not furnished as it normally was because the room had only two tables in a corner, revealing the beige and brown chequered-tiles of the floor. The bar itself was made of wood, probably crafted a century ago, it was fully covered with a large model of the Mole Antonelliana next to which two plastic Teddy Bears framed a collection of wine bottles ranked from the taller to the smaller. The owner offered us a drink while they were getting ready. The menu was yet to be hand-written. It was the day the restaurant had just reopened. A waitress excused herself for wearing a jogging sweater, she had just come back from a holiday in France that very afternoon. Customers seemed to ignore the blood-thirsty mosquitoes while seating in the garden under a vine arbour. Soon the place was full and lively. The reopening had been longed for. On my part, I was blessed with a lovely Osso Bucco (veal shank with a wine and green peas sauce) and a nice Barbera d'Asti Galileo. It had been a successful evening.
We left Turin the next morning with a friendly thought for this town that neither of us had visited before, but that had come across as a pleasant place to spend time in. It was early morning and still dark as we walked out under the arcades where a large PIZZA KEBAP neon sign was already lit in orange. The bakery was opened too with the smell of fresh pastries wafting through the door. Cloudless was the sky it seemed. The train station wasn't far, we just needed to walk five minutes to the Porta Susa station that had a similar design as a recent airport terminal with a glass and steel structure letting the natural light in.
Off we went, comfortably seated by the window, looking at the night landscape unfurl in front of us. However, perhaps half an hour later, a cloudy mass appeared in the sky and soon rain caused rivulets of water to form on the train's windows. It was breakfast time.
It was still raining in Milan when the train entered the central station. The light was bleak, the one of a wet dawn. However the inside the station was lively, especially in the café, which was working at full steam to produce all the espressos and macchiatos that a crowd of Italian customers would be expected to require at 7 AM.
We moved on to our next train in the direction of Venice, with the Alps on the left side and flatlands on the right one, which were either used for agriculture or industry. Towns came too with their urban sprawl. The rain stopped close to Venice. We changed for a train in the direction of Vienna. Still dark was the sky as the train entered the station of Villach. Rain had resumed as we crossed the border mountains between Italy and Austria.
When the train had stopped at the Tarvisio station, a border point between Italy and Austria, to allow immigration staff to do a few "random" ID controls on the platform as well as in the train, looking for illegal immigrants, some light mist was filling the air with a gloomy atmosphere of wet suspicion. It felt good to sit on the train, dry and warm, with the imminent prospect of better skies.
And here we were in a new country, Austria. From leaving the Villach station and walking a few meters on the streets, it was obvious that we weren't in Italy anymore (although an ice cream shop was called "Il Gelato" on its pink storefront, the small street sign "Bahnhofstraße 7" next to it was a clear denunciation of the attempt at Italian flair made by the Eisdiele (ice cream shop in German)). The architecture of the church with its sharply pointed clock tower and of the shopping streets lined-up with immaculate pastel-coloured facades were further hints that the dolce vita was over and that instead one should look for Gemütlichkeit. Spotless streets, manicured flower pots in front of windows (red geraniums preferably). Everything had carefully been made functional. The natural empathy had been replaced by professional courtesy in shops and cafes. We shopped for a few things then went back to the station to take a surburban train to Ossiacher See which depressingly reflected the hazy greyishness of the sky. We walked to our hotel in Steindorf, Familien Gasthof Nindler, learning from the facade of a few restaurants along the way that lake fish was the local delicacy. We passed the museum of the local architect Günther Domenig, a deconstructed house, on the lake shore, with concrete, glass and metal. Rain started falling again as we entered in the hotel. An elderly man greeted us and quickly showed us to our room which was comfortable and vintage at the same time. The double-bed was in fact two single beds put next to each other, with quilts folded in three parts and a marshmallow-type pillow next to it. This kind of bedding is the norm in Germany and Austria. Rain kept pouring as we took our dinner only to partly ease the next morning. Although we knew it would probably continue falling during the day we still went ahead with our project to climb up to the Gerlitzen summit with the thought that we could come down with the cable car. We came across an energy point (Kraftplatz) which is a place with a particular geological condition, where Earth energy is concentrated. Often ancient civilization would add a menhir to act as an amplification portal. I was surprised to see that such a concept was being advertised in a natural park. The alternative side of Austria!
It was still raining in Milan when the train entered the central station. The light was bleak, the one of a wet dawn. However the inside the station was lively, especially in the café, which was working at full steam to produce all the espressos and macchiatos that a crowd of Italian customers would be expected to require at 7 AM.
We moved on to our next train in the direction of Venice, with the Alps on the left side and flatlands on the right one, which were either used for agriculture or industry. Towns came too with their urban sprawl. The rain stopped close to Venice. We changed for a train in the direction of Vienna. Still dark was the sky as the train entered the station of Villach. Rain had resumed as we crossed the border mountains between Italy and Austria.
When the train had stopped at the Tarvisio station, a border point between Italy and Austria, to allow immigration staff to do a few "random" ID controls on the platform as well as in the train, looking for illegal immigrants, some light mist was filling the air with a gloomy atmosphere of wet suspicion. It felt good to sit on the train, dry and warm, with the imminent prospect of better skies.
And here we were in a new country, Austria. From leaving the Villach station and walking a few meters on the streets, it was obvious that we weren't in Italy anymore (although an ice cream shop was called "Il Gelato" on its pink storefront, the small street sign "Bahnhofstraße 7" next to it was a clear denunciation of the attempt at Italian flair made by the Eisdiele (ice cream shop in German)). The architecture of the church with its sharply pointed clock tower and of the shopping streets lined-up with immaculate pastel-coloured facades were further hints that the dolce vita was over and that instead one should look for Gemütlichkeit. Spotless streets, manicured flower pots in front of windows (red geraniums preferably). Everything had carefully been made functional. The natural empathy had been replaced by professional courtesy in shops and cafes. We shopped for a few things then went back to the station to take a surburban train to Ossiacher See which depressingly reflected the hazy greyishness of the sky. We walked to our hotel in Steindorf, Familien Gasthof Nindler, learning from the facade of a few restaurants along the way that lake fish was the local delicacy. We passed the museum of the local architect Günther Domenig, a deconstructed house, on the lake shore, with concrete, glass and metal. Rain started falling again as we entered in the hotel. An elderly man greeted us and quickly showed us to our room which was comfortable and vintage at the same time. The double-bed was in fact two single beds put next to each other, with quilts folded in three parts and a marshmallow-type pillow next to it. This kind of bedding is the norm in Germany and Austria. Rain kept pouring as we took our dinner only to partly ease the next morning. Although we knew it would probably continue falling during the day we still went ahead with our project to climb up to the Gerlitzen summit with the thought that we could come down with the cable car. We came across an energy point (Kraftplatz) which is a place with a particular geological condition, where Earth energy is concentrated. Often ancient civilization would add a menhir to act as an amplification portal. I was surprised to see that such a concept was being advertised in a natural park. The alternative side of Austria!
The humidity and the darkness of forest paths were enticing fire salamanders to come out in their yellow-spotted black suit. As we ascended, a mixture of rain and clouds and wind made our hands feel numb with cold. We decided to turn back and give-up the prospect of an exciting marketing combo: a cable car ride bundled with a sausage meal at the summit restaurant.
It took us a while to come down to the lake shore and find the jetty to catch the ferry to cross the lake. Nearly an hour to wait. So we ate our sandwich and watched a boy convince his mother that he was ready to go for a swim in the water. A few minutes later, he had successfully made it into the water where he remained a few minutes before getting bored, come out of the water and get dressed. By the time the ferry came by, the clouds had resumed to generously pour their water on our heads. We stopped briefly at Ossiach's only shop which was half grocery and half souvenir shop. We slipped on our green dromedary oufit (our rain cloak) and went on resolutely, for about fifteen minutes, through the downpour up to the Fischer Stueberl which had very modern rooms, in comparison with the ones of the previous night, and a warm atmosphere in its restaurant. The warm shower was highly appreciated, so was the warm quilt for the time of an afternoon nap. At dinner, rain was still pouring. We went for a cold cut platter followed by a local delicacy called Selchwurst (a grilled pork sausage with meat only very grossly minced to have a particular texture) served with sauerkraut. After this "light" food, sleeping was the only option until breakfast. One big cultural difference between Italy and Austria, or between Latin and Germanic, is the role played by breakfast. Here in Austria there are eggs, cold cuts, bread, fruits, cheese, yogurt and so on... breakfast feels like a brunch.
The weather hadn't really improved but we had to move on anyway. We had now joined the Alpe-Adria trail, which starts at the Grossglockner, a peak over 3000 meters elevation in Austria and goes through Carinthia (South province of Austria), Slovenia and Italy all the way down to Trieste.
For now, we had to go up a narrow gorge to reach the plateau from where we would descend towards the Woerther lake more specifically to the lakeside town of Velden. The people in charge of the trail did a brilliant job to build steps, wooden bridges and fences in order to secure the way up, in this otherwise very dark and slippery environment of the gorge. More fire salamanders had gone out of their homes, awkwardly running away when they sensed our approach.
In this end of August, all apple trees were still full of fruits, which gave us the opportunity to taste some of the apples that had already fallen on the grass. The path to Velden crossed very rural places with cows in green pastures. Finally after traversing a forest the view opened up, we could see the Woerther See and the Julian Alps whose summits had gathered a bit of snow the night before. One could see the Triglav peak in Slovenia where we would be in a couple of days. The weather was improving and by the time we arrived in Velden the sun was making inroads through the clouds. Velden is a very posh town, a hybrid between Saint Tropez and Vichy, by French standards. Many mansions were built in the first half of the 20th century by people who could afford the luxury to spend the summer in nicer climes.
A Ferrari (red of course) was parked in front of the Falkensteiner Schlosshotel, the best hotel in town, which is using the premise of the former castle of Velden located right by lake. Many passers by were contemplating it with envy. Next to it, by the roadside was a black box with windows all around where a black Mercedes-Benz Moser roadster was show-cased. It wasn't as popular as its red neighbour.
Kids, already keen on sports cars as their daddies, could ask their parents to rent a red-Ferrari-shaped pedal boat mounted with a slide. And for those who had no interest in cars or water sports, they could still watch ducks, real ones, swim through the cristal clear waters of the lake until they dived their head in it to look for some food and revealed their webbed feet to the whole world. Of course, the town center had plenty of reasons to shop for the necessary and the unnecessary. Clothes, art, souvenirs, jewellery, handycrafts, electronics, food, etc... I looked at all the shop windows with the eye of a man whose stomach is too full because I didn't want to buy anything at all because it would have meant self-infliction of an extra burden on my back. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the aesthetic of it all.
We strolled on the pleasant lakeside promenade. However most of the shore is off-limit reserved for private beaches which belong to the various hotels and restaurants or landowners. It seems that this is regular practice in Austria to have lake shores privatised. To add to the panoply of things to do for fun, Velden has a casino which is advertised with large white illuminated letters highlighted from below by a pink neon light. It is making quite an impression when the night comes.
We left Velden a little sad, or rather hoping the fun would go on. After walking three hours through forest and farmland we came closer to the Faaker lake. It is famous for its yearly meeting of Harley Davidson's bikers, to the point that the official t-shirt of the gathering, featuring a dressed pin-up, was advertised next to the suburban train station.
In order to access the shore we walked all the way down to the public beach where a large wooden pier made it possible to go in the water without having to tiptoe on the stones of the shore. We decided to have our picnic on the platform followed by a nice dip in the water. The deep green water was extremely refreshing. This was welcome because the sun was fairly hot.
We resumed our walk to ascend to Baumgartner Hoehe, where we would spend our last evening in Austria at a farm that had developed a serious hospitality business leveraging on their panoramic view over the nearby lakes and on local products made at the farm. We had seen on our way up a group of deers in an enclosure which was surely part of the farm activities.
In the breakfast room, a whole collection of hunting trophies were hung on the walls, which included deer horns but also chamois as a reminder that we were still in the Alps. Actually the border with Slovenia was just following the crest of the peaks overlooking the farm. This is where we were going next. Adieu Carinthia! When we told Simone, the manager, one of the many sisters in the family, that we were going to the border, she beamed saying that she had only been there once, despite having spent all her life at the farm, but it was beautiful up there.
It took us a while to come down to the lake shore and find the jetty to catch the ferry to cross the lake. Nearly an hour to wait. So we ate our sandwich and watched a boy convince his mother that he was ready to go for a swim in the water. A few minutes later, he had successfully made it into the water where he remained a few minutes before getting bored, come out of the water and get dressed. By the time the ferry came by, the clouds had resumed to generously pour their water on our heads. We stopped briefly at Ossiach's only shop which was half grocery and half souvenir shop. We slipped on our green dromedary oufit (our rain cloak) and went on resolutely, for about fifteen minutes, through the downpour up to the Fischer Stueberl which had very modern rooms, in comparison with the ones of the previous night, and a warm atmosphere in its restaurant. The warm shower was highly appreciated, so was the warm quilt for the time of an afternoon nap. At dinner, rain was still pouring. We went for a cold cut platter followed by a local delicacy called Selchwurst (a grilled pork sausage with meat only very grossly minced to have a particular texture) served with sauerkraut. After this "light" food, sleeping was the only option until breakfast. One big cultural difference between Italy and Austria, or between Latin and Germanic, is the role played by breakfast. Here in Austria there are eggs, cold cuts, bread, fruits, cheese, yogurt and so on... breakfast feels like a brunch.
The weather hadn't really improved but we had to move on anyway. We had now joined the Alpe-Adria trail, which starts at the Grossglockner, a peak over 3000 meters elevation in Austria and goes through Carinthia (South province of Austria), Slovenia and Italy all the way down to Trieste.
For now, we had to go up a narrow gorge to reach the plateau from where we would descend towards the Woerther lake more specifically to the lakeside town of Velden. The people in charge of the trail did a brilliant job to build steps, wooden bridges and fences in order to secure the way up, in this otherwise very dark and slippery environment of the gorge. More fire salamanders had gone out of their homes, awkwardly running away when they sensed our approach.
In this end of August, all apple trees were still full of fruits, which gave us the opportunity to taste some of the apples that had already fallen on the grass. The path to Velden crossed very rural places with cows in green pastures. Finally after traversing a forest the view opened up, we could see the Woerther See and the Julian Alps whose summits had gathered a bit of snow the night before. One could see the Triglav peak in Slovenia where we would be in a couple of days. The weather was improving and by the time we arrived in Velden the sun was making inroads through the clouds. Velden is a very posh town, a hybrid between Saint Tropez and Vichy, by French standards. Many mansions were built in the first half of the 20th century by people who could afford the luxury to spend the summer in nicer climes.
A Ferrari (red of course) was parked in front of the Falkensteiner Schlosshotel, the best hotel in town, which is using the premise of the former castle of Velden located right by lake. Many passers by were contemplating it with envy. Next to it, by the roadside was a black box with windows all around where a black Mercedes-Benz Moser roadster was show-cased. It wasn't as popular as its red neighbour.
Kids, already keen on sports cars as their daddies, could ask their parents to rent a red-Ferrari-shaped pedal boat mounted with a slide. And for those who had no interest in cars or water sports, they could still watch ducks, real ones, swim through the cristal clear waters of the lake until they dived their head in it to look for some food and revealed their webbed feet to the whole world. Of course, the town center had plenty of reasons to shop for the necessary and the unnecessary. Clothes, art, souvenirs, jewellery, handycrafts, electronics, food, etc... I looked at all the shop windows with the eye of a man whose stomach is too full because I didn't want to buy anything at all because it would have meant self-infliction of an extra burden on my back. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the aesthetic of it all.
We strolled on the pleasant lakeside promenade. However most of the shore is off-limit reserved for private beaches which belong to the various hotels and restaurants or landowners. It seems that this is regular practice in Austria to have lake shores privatised. To add to the panoply of things to do for fun, Velden has a casino which is advertised with large white illuminated letters highlighted from below by a pink neon light. It is making quite an impression when the night comes.
We left Velden a little sad, or rather hoping the fun would go on. After walking three hours through forest and farmland we came closer to the Faaker lake. It is famous for its yearly meeting of Harley Davidson's bikers, to the point that the official t-shirt of the gathering, featuring a dressed pin-up, was advertised next to the suburban train station.
In order to access the shore we walked all the way down to the public beach where a large wooden pier made it possible to go in the water without having to tiptoe on the stones of the shore. We decided to have our picnic on the platform followed by a nice dip in the water. The deep green water was extremely refreshing. This was welcome because the sun was fairly hot.
We resumed our walk to ascend to Baumgartner Hoehe, where we would spend our last evening in Austria at a farm that had developed a serious hospitality business leveraging on their panoramic view over the nearby lakes and on local products made at the farm. We had seen on our way up a group of deers in an enclosure which was surely part of the farm activities.
In the breakfast room, a whole collection of hunting trophies were hung on the walls, which included deer horns but also chamois as a reminder that we were still in the Alps. Actually the border with Slovenia was just following the crest of the peaks overlooking the farm. This is where we were going next. Adieu Carinthia! When we told Simone, the manager, one of the many sisters in the family, that we were going to the border, she beamed saying that she had only been there once, despite having spent all her life at the farm, but it was beautiful up there.
images:
1/ Faaker See, public beach
2/ Susa Cathedral next to Porta San Giusto
3/ Turin Mole Antonelliana
4/ Italian shoes in Turin
5/ Fire salamander
6/ Velden am Woerthersee
1/ Faaker See, public beach
2/ Susa Cathedral next to Porta San Giusto
3/ Turin Mole Antonelliana
4/ Italian shoes in Turin
5/ Fire salamander
6/ Velden am Woerthersee
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| Susa Cathedral next to Porta San Giusto |
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| Turin, Mole Antonelliana |
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| Italian shoes in Turin |
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| fire salamander, Ossiacher See |
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| Velden am Woerthersee |
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