The Deutschland Diaries Part 3: Lautersee and Beyond - A Pictorial Journey

A bus took us up from Mittenwald to the glimmering lake, Lautersee (see is German for lake).

I turned to get a better view of my surroundings and spotted—SNOW!! The top half of a hillside caked with the stuff! I hopped over the wooden fence, ran across the meadow to get a better look but was called back by the mother who feared I was trespassing. How is it my fault if the snow decides to land on private property instead of on the road?

I needn't have bothered, as we shall soon see.

The lake lay still and clear, allowing one to see what lay beneath the surface, bunches of dried water reeds separating it from the road. A few trees stood bare, having been stripped of their autumn glory. Pine trees surrounded a part of the lake on the farther reaches of its waters, their once deep green leaves fading into ochre and red. The brilliant whites of the snow capped peaks that loomed behind neatly overshadowed those of the sparse clouds floating right above the Alps.

We followed a trail that led up a hill, away from the lake. The weather app foretold the mercury was falling to a single digit and I was still dressed in just my trusty windbreaker, thin sweater and jeans, but the stiff uphill climb kept my blood from coagulating. There was no wind to speak of; the sun shone bright but the trees lining the path before us cast long shadows upon it, so much so you couldn't even make out the colour of the earth.

And what did we see?

Snow.

So. Much. SNOW!!

I packed some into a fist-sized ball. There was no one around to indulge me with a snowball fight so I told the mother to turn around and tossed it at the back of her coat. When we came to a field by the road where the white fluff lay untouched, I dropped flat on my back and waved my limbs against the snow to make a snow angel. The attempt drenched my jeans, but it was worth it! One-third of #13 on the Before I die list—make snow angels—can now be crossed off!

(Note: All photos in this post were taken with my iPhone 4S and appear before you au naturel, i.e. no edits or filters)

The mother wanted to move in the direction of the Schloss Elmau—going to a castle (the German word is 'Schloss') in the mountains couldn't be bad, right? Distrustful of the signboards that clearly indicated which turn we had to take, she asked a trio of old Nordic walkers passing by which way to turn. They offered to guide us and so we tagged along, pausing at intervals as I gleefully discovered more snow. We passed quite a few hikers, all of whom would greet us with a smile and a cheery 'hello!' =D Nothing quite like brief encounters with pleasant strangers.

First snow angel :)

We continued our hike and came upon another lake called Ferchensee. The air was so still, the scenery and its reflection met to form perfect symmetry. 

We marched on through woods, glacial rivers thundering by us. The trio of Nordic walkers graciously pointed us in the right direction, bidding us farewell. The trees began thinning out and a couple of cranes, almost camouflaged in the autumn hues, came into view much to my disgust. And finally, there stood Schloss Elmau. 

Corny, but I kept singing 'Walking in the Winter Wonderland'

Go forth!

Camouflaged cranes

We had been misled. Schloss Elmau was no castle, just a fancy resort. Disappointing, but the surrounding countryside more than made up for it. The sky is never this blue in Kuwait. 

Schloss Elmau

Lush green meadows lay concealed behind hillocks, and a steep climb on one of these revealed...

a basketball hoop. Strange place to have one but to each his own..

The commotion from the construction nearby was nerve-wracking. Add hunger and weariness to the equation and even a place as stunning as this can't stop irritation from building up. We walked to the resort to grab a bite to it but were daunted by a swarm of bees that were whizzing around. No freaking way was I going to eat there! The receptionist at the front desk arranged for the driver to drop us off at the train station a few kilometers away, without us even making any request of the kind. It was really nice of her. 

Once back in Mittenwald, we had seafood for dinner at a little restaurant. Ah, food. Food makes me happier than it should.

The Deutschland Diaries Part 2: Mittenwald

Mittenwald is a small town in Bavaria, Germany, that the mother was dying to visit. And so we did.

The train from Munich pulled into the Mittenwald station at 8.30 pm. The town was dark and deserted, as though there was a curfew on. As is habitual with us, we had no hotel booking. It was 6 degrees Celsius, I was wearing nothing warmer than a windbreaker and that damned trolley bag kept slamming into my thigh as I carried it for about 600 metres until a group of young men that got off the train with us pointed us in the direction of what they said was a hotel, but turned out to be a beer garden guesthouse wherein we rented a small room that we later discovered had no heating and no WiFi, all for a ridiculous 80 Euro.

The best of beginnings it was not.

As I dragged the bag into the garden up to the entrance of the guesthouse, I spotted a huge white mass of soap suds by the gate and wondered what became of the normally active environmental consciousness of the Germans.

After a good dinner of pizza and pasta at an Italian restaurant around the corner while fully exploiting its WiFi connection, we spent the night shivering beneath one blanket (the mother refused to use hers after she found strands of hair on it that didn't stray from either of our noggins). After a miserable breakfast, the mother set out to find alternate lodgings, while I got ready to get the hell out of there (I must admit however that I had no wish to venture into what I considered was below freezing no matter what temperature the weather app displayed). It was Monday and apparently the staff's day off; there wasn't a soul anywhere in the guesthouse. The keys to the room included one to the front door, which had to be locked. Nobody had thought of mentioning to us where we were supposed to deposit the keys after locking the front door when checking out. So I kept them (with the key card to the luggage room from the hotel in Munich that I'd forgotten to return to reception), thinking I'd return them the next day

The mother called me to the garden as I got the bags out.
"I want to introduce you to someone."
"There's no one here.."
She pointed to the white fluff. "Meet Snow."
"That sludge is snow?! I thought it was a mass of soap suds!"

The pile of 'snow' was adulterated with fallen leaves, dirt and mud. What happened to its purity and fluffiness depicted innumerable times on TV? I felt cheated.

The second hotel was a far cry from the first. The room we rented (for the same rate) was equipped with every amenity and both the interior and exterior were very pleasing to the aesthetic sense, as the balcony looked onto the craggy Alps that towered over the edges of the town.

The room with a view. Breathtaking, innit?

More craggy mountain tops

My only complaint was of the miserable WiFi connection, but at least it existed.

A walk about the town revealed more of its inhabitants and visitors—old people. There was no one there under the age of 50. I felt weirdly out of place.

It was Eid that same day and the first one ever without sheer khurma. Not that I missed it but the occasion necessitates the satiation of the sweet tooth. We celebrated with baklava from a Turkish restaurant and Kinder Bueno ice cream from a shop selling gelato. A very satisfactory break from tradition.

I might have forgotten to mention that with regard to clothing, I was grossly unprepared. My only thought had been the Munich run, and besides a waterproof windbreaker, compression tights and a couple of tees, all I had for the Alps was a thick sweater and jeans. I moaned as I thought of the warm coats back in Prague. This is the story of my life. Pitiful. Oh, so pitiful.