Lost (for real) in alpine Austria

Hirschegg-Pack. Sounds like a jar of hazelnut chocolate butter, right? Or the anticipation of working your way through a bag of Hersey’s Kisses. I can almost hear the impatient tugging, the sudden rip as the plastic gives way without warning and the soft burst of your small candy bomb, Kisses flying around the room and the mad rush to retrieve all the scattered candy. By now, you probably know that I really associate words with gastronomic experiences. Accents, plosives, sibilants become like flavours, textures and mouthfeel, till I can quite taste each contour of the word. And the memory of Hirschegg-Pack makes my mouth smack even yet.

So how did this small place I’d never heard of until we arrived there figure on our road trip. Again, half-baked planning and trusting Airbnb blindly. We’d intended to be tourists at Graz and instead wound up being adventurers in this cute little gingerbread elf village in Austria.

The drive from Langenaltheim to Hirschegg was mostly uneventful. And then the last leg made up for it. The last leg was precarious, to say in the least. As the wide inter-country highways gave way to winding country roads, we found that Goggle was getting a bit wonky and the day was getting darker far quicker that we’d expected. The roads were steep and the bordering woods seemed to loom closer and edge right in our way. We felt gnome eyes watch us warily, as if expecting, wanting us to tumble down the side of the road any minute. We didn’t see a soul for hours together and the clouds joined the trees in their game of bearing hard upon us. On the whole, extremely uneasy feeling. To top it all, it was extremely hard to hear our Airbnb host every time we called him for directions.

But somehow we arrived in one piece - the woods suddenly relented and a fairytale village appeared out of nowhere. Our host Marcus welcomed us, smiling despite how late it was. He lived across the street so it was not an inconvenience. This cheery, freespirit, sunny human being took the edge off the intense drive with his as-warm-as-a-shot-of-schnapps welcome. He showed us around the house - cute gingerbread houses are a bit creepy on the inside - and then told us to come over to his place for a round of schnapps. That sounded good. We hastily put away our things and went over. He told us that this village was heavily populated with 600 people. And when we enquired if we were close to Graz, he grinned and said a bit sardonically “Well, if you take the whole wide world into perspective - which is a really big place, Graz is close!” His smile said more than his words. Turned out that we were nowhere close to Graz. It was a good fifty kilometres away.

Thanks a lot, Airbnb!!!

Though we wound up in the place purely by accident, we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Despite all the bewildered glances by the villagers at these brown people who were seriously out-of-season, we couldn’t have felt more welcome. Other than just the one time when we were turned away by a restaurant hostess “Because they were closed” - don’t know if it was because we were brown skinned or if it was because she was hosting an intimate dinner for her friends, we were never out of place in this place that really could have made us feel otherwise.

The first evening was hardly great for gathering our wits and bearings. For starters it was raining. And we were still wobbly-kneed from the drive. And then Google let us know the next dinner place ( we were turned away from the first place) was 10 kilometres away. A pizza place that was supposedly a local favourite. This time around we had to take those meandering roads in the pitch blackness of a wet, Austrian alpine October night. We walk in to what had quickly become a regular feature of our small-town Europe meals - that typical ‘movie-style” reception. You know - a raggedy, mysterious stranger walks into a noisy, boisterous tavern and the whole place hushes into an even louder silence. The place seemed to be the hangout of these big, beefy white mean who went uneasily silent on us. But then as soon as the restaurant host (another well-built, extremely fantastic specimen of the human species with forearms as big as the massive beer steins in his restaurant) confirmed that they were indeed open and we had our table, they went back to the robust, full-bodied German chatter and the place lost its air of holding its breath. Obviously, we were welcomed with a round of really good schnapps - and the gang heartily went Prost! along with us. I had some superb pork schnitzels. The tall mugs of beer went down smooth and easy. The pizzas were great. So far, Hirschegg seemed to be a success.

Hirschegg is so out in the backwoods that it gets you so close to nature that in the beginning it unnerves you. The stars are startling close. The pine-ridged shadows on the horizon sometimes look like teeth. The silence is smothering, and even more so the dark. You hardly encounter young people, except for our friends Marcus. And the taxidermy owl in the cloak room did nothing to alleviate the spooky atmosphere. But the laughter and chatter of seven friends and piping cups of cocoa and warm schnapps punctuated this rather overwhelming quiet, so that it didn't get into our bones.

But morning was a different story. We work up to a Swiss Chocolate Wrapper world. The eerie pine silhouettes were now their grand cathedral selves. The troll-backs that loomed behind the houses were now chubby, dimpled hills of the most delicious velvety green. Gravity-defying cows moved with the lilting music of their cowbells. Shingled-gabled roofs charmed us, convincing that the precarious road from yesterday was a time-machine. And from the gingerbread house next door, an elf granny watered her plants, with the help of her senior-walker and waved at us.

We were in Hirschegg for four days. Day one was eventful. We drove the fifty kilometres to Graz (for the evening) and wandered about that lovely city. We met a former air hostess, currently a business-woman with the cutest store, who missed India so much that it warmed us over. She had such a haunted wistful look in her eyes, that our heart broke. “If we were put up anywhere closer than 20 km from here, we’d have invited you to a good Indian meal.” When it comes to food, we’re quite sorted as a gang - Shiva makes tremendously good North Indian vegetarian food, Amritha is a fabulous South Indian vegetarian cook and yours truly can make a not-too-shabby chicken curry. Anything for that woman who made Graz really significant for us with her wise words “When I was an air hostess the world seemed so small and undaunting. Now that I’m here, in one place, everything seems to get bigger and bigger - and terrifying.” It just reminded us to be grateful for the moment and to make the best of what little fearlessness we could afford to have.

We didn’t really do much in Graz other than walk around, go mad at the Manner store - buying our weight in wafers and chocolates - trying out Styrian street food and stuff like that. Graz is a charming city - but when it comes to writing home about - you run out of words quickly, I think. Graz has a vibrant music scene and tours through the styrian wine country are hugely popular. Graz, despite is name that’s reminiscent of tasteless things, is a rush of gastronomic nerve endings - it dons the toque blanche of Capital of Delight to bring together some top notch culinary events. The Long Table of Graz is probably the most famous event, where people get to eat al fresco in the lovely town square and sample the most famous delights of the most famous chefs - creme de la creme doesn’t get more literal than this. The Murinsel by night is a fascinating place, but we found the restaurant closed that evening. But it is still something to be in an artificial floating orb of electric blue while the River Mur races icily a few feet below.

We drove back to Hirschegg at night - the alpine roads were a lot less spooky this time. The next day was my birthday and we had plans to go drive down to Lake Bled in Slovenia. Exciting! As far as Hirschegg was from being a base for Graz, it was relatively close by to other countries. So funny. We could drive to Czech Republic or Slovenia or Croatia or Hungary and make a day trip out of it. While we readied for breakfast, Likith announced with long face that we might be not be able to go anywhere after all. We were nearly at the 2500 km cap (something we were not aware of, until he decided to check with them) on the vehicle and anything extra would be charged by the kilometre. and we still had a couple of days in Hirschegg and its ten km quests for food, and of course, we still had to drive back to Vienna. I was disappointed. But then again, hey I was turning 35 in an alpine village with woods and hills that were alive with confused village folk, gravity-defying cows and teeming green turf.

We thought maybe we could just walk around and see where the road would lead us. We followed roads into woods and into streams. Further down the road, Sahit and I made friends with a local mangy feline thug. This enormous black cat literally sat on the road as if waiting for us to come down the hill and then crossed the road over to Sahit and me, hung out with us, gave me his birthday blessing and trotted away. I always have a a black cat rendezvous in Europe.

Further down the road was a llama farm. They are so strange - these camel-faced sheep who couldn’t care less about us. I didn’t even know that you found them in Austria - which our schnapps-generous airbnb host sort of poked fun at me for. A white llama is one of those white creatures that is more myth than weird sheep-like mammal. A sage-like fluffy cotton ball that glistens in the buttery alpine sunshine, looking like something that could grant wishes - if you could get past barbed wire fences first. We were seven brown faces in a very-very out of the way village. We did not want to find out what it meant to break the law and trespass in these parts. And yet, I think that’s exactly what we did a little further down the road.

When looking at llamas got old we continued down the road and found a lovely picnic spot - a little spring-fed lake gleamed invitingly and we let it invite us over. We chilled out for a bit, lolling in the grass, tried our hands at learning cartwheels and handstands in a matter of a few trials (and failed miserably looking like complete fools), lolled on the grass some more, gasping for breath. Sahit of course stuck to making videos on the sly to make an ass out of all of us on Instagram stories. Two villagers, a middle aged woman and a younger woman with a baby in a stroller walked into the path from the main road that skirted the banks of the lake and led to two houses.

They were sweet enough and waved at us very indulgently. We waved back at them happily. And then it slowly dawned on us - this might be private property. Yikes! We slunk away sheepishly, not wanting to overstay our welcome. There wasn’t much to do except pick some groceries and have a home-cooked lunch. After the action-packed days of just jumping into the car and driving into different towns, this felt rather cooped in.

We headed back to the village square - or what we think was the square for a lack of seeing anything more square-like. This was our backyard - a restaurant, a bar, supermarket, a church and some houses - made up the bustling village square. We picked up some provisions from the supermarket and made lunch at the Airbnb. Hirschegg was forcing us to do things the old fashioned way - including keeping ourselves entertained. We did our own thing till dinner time and went to the restaurant behind our place. This is where my birthday went from “hmmm it was good” to “my birthday is MADE”! The restaurant was a homestead, and I’m guessing the ground floor was converted into the restaurant. We walked into a living room filled with middle-aged women in dirndls and men in lederhosens singing. It couldn’t get more Sound of Music than this. Clearly this was some important night for the village and we half expected them to turn us away. Even though their lips tightened as they tried to decide if they could accommodate us, they ushered us in. And I had one of the most interesting evenings ever. I can’t remember what the occasion was but it was clearly some culture night and they sang folksongs in German. We had pizza and beer. I had my birthday moment. Goodness knows what they were singing about - but hey, they were hospitable.

The ancient 35 year old I had become was snoring before the 10 pm. Later the next morning I find out that the others had gone partying leaving us out. THANKS A LOT, people. I wake up and I hear Amrutha puking her guts out and swearing off schnapps forever. Shiva comes down grinning and groaning in turns. In this sleepy village they managed to get rip-roaring drunk at the bar, when an expedition to draw some money at the ATM turned into the maddest night of their year. They apparently had people yammering away in gregarious German and they held-forth in excited English, and the two parties understood each other just fine. Language is no bar in a bar. I’m an early sleeper so I doubt I would have survived this night.

Whatever bummed out feeling I had at missing this event, it dissipated at the place we went to get breakfast. First of the drive was sheer gorgeousness. Pine trees, sparkling lakes, fresh air, mountain sunshine - the Alpine works. And then we go to the bäcker and do our little dance of pointing to everything that looked yum. As the nice lad behind the counter packed our order, a cute old lady strode in purposefully and packed some buns and put it with our lot. The young fellow told us in halting English “she wants you to have them”. Melted!! It’s such a nice thing when people who make sweet things are so sweet themselves.

For some inexplicable reason, Hirschegg had me a little on the edge - like we were constantly trespassing. Maybe it was being so cut away from the world. Or the fact that we only saw elderly folk, who gave us bewildered looks. Or the fact that as much as I would have liked to check the cute little village church out, the memorial of the Fallen Solider the stood sentry outside, a spectre from the wrong side of history felt like a reprimanding finger or a closed door. And the friendly pizzeria host did want to know which one of us were Aryan (our resident aryan Shiva shrunk into herself right then, not particularly fond of that titular privilege). 

What must it be like to be on the wrong side of history. To have given your sons, sweethearts and life to a flawed cause. To remember them fondly and yet shudder with the truth of the ugliness they pledged their life to. To have histories marred with blood. But these are burdens of those saddled with a conscience. Hatred and bigotry never left - it’s right there in our backyards. And here I was, being received with more warmth in this Austrian village than some parts of my own country. The warmth and softness of fresh bread! This goes for my status as a person of colour and my female gender. It felt good to feel unthreatened. While the world goes in the general direction of making a mess of things, it’s good to see some signs of humanity.

This was our last day in Hirschegg and like a true host, it was sending us away with a bunch of really nice memories. After breakfast, we googled “Things to do in Hirschegg-Pack”, like we hadn’t already done it a few hundred useless times. Along with the pictures of snow-capped hillsides (as they would be in over a month), we saw a “Radio museum” that suddenly looked attractive. We decided to part with a few precious kilometres to keep ourselves entertained. Let’s just say that the road ended abruptly by a woodsy creek. Some of us went on foot to investigate while the others just hung around taking pictures. The weather was chilly and we hugged our jackets closer. The fellows who had gone to check on museum came back with disappointing news - it was closed.

While the rest of us made long faces, Anand decided to take a closer look at the creek. An extremely close look. For some reason he thought hopping on mossy creek stones in basketball shoes was a great idea. We saw him fall in slow motion and when the split-second shock of seeing him fall passed, we were in splits laughing at him. Shiva shrieked in concern “Anand, your phone!!! Is it okay?” Anand was not impressed with this wifely concern or the gang’s version of concern. He was unhurt, but soaked. And freezing his bum off. Eat that radio museum - let’s see you out-entertain that! Another round of home-cooked lunch and a chilled out evening that featured laughs, hot chocolate and schnapps and waving at our host’s cute little grandmother who liked to hobble from her place to the main house across the road - our last day at Hirschegg was slow and quiet. Night fell silently and the stars tiptoed out. we had eaten our way through the moon over the last few days with our road trip and there was none left for tonight. We stood in starlight, trying to photograph star trails, but the cold had us running back into the house quickly. The village was quiet under the starlight. Our holiday in this happenstance Alpine village was coming to an end, and it weighed heavy on us.

It felt terrible that we would probably never see Marcus and his cute granny ever again. It’s funny how things can quickly grow to be habits. The creaky stairs, the faint clink of cow bells that punctuated the day, the chilly hall, the coughing stove that kept the house warm, the cavernous dining room and the giant mossy tufts that were the hills that surrounded us, the sweet woman at the supermarket who “hullo’ed” us every time we walked in and even the dazed look of the villagers who could never understand why we were there before the snow, the generosity of a small village bäcker! We piled into our seven-seater adventure carriage for the last time and waved sad goodbyes to cute granny who waved back at us from her cute bench, and to our schnapps-generous host and his lovely pa. The gravity-defying cows just stared unblinkingly as I tried to blink away my sadness. It was proving to be really hard, so I worked on committing to memory the way the light fell on the somber shoulders of the pines - so that I wouldn’t forget.