At least we had a slightly longer time in bed this morning, as our bus wasn’t leaving until 9.20, but it was raining hard and quite cool. This was the day we really did need jumpers, raincoats and umbrellas!
To reach Achensee, which is a lake high up in the mountains, the bus took winding roads and hairpin bends up the mountain. Views were impossible through the driving rain, and the clouds were low. This was my best photo through the bus window, which was a village we passed on the way up, on the flat shoulder of the mountain.
The church is fairly typical of the area, austere outside with a very tall spire.
It was still raining miserably when we arrived at Pertisau at the southern end of the lake, and we got out of the bus and waited in the rain for the boat to take us to the north of the lake, 9km away.
A couple of boats like this ferry people between the villages around the lake, I think there’s quite a lot of local traffic of both people and supplies, and usually rather more tourists than there were today. One of our party wondered how on earth they got a boat that size up to the lake. It’s more than 950m above sea level and the road is narrow and winding and full of 180 degree bends and has quite a few low roofed areas because of avalanches or landslides. We can only conclude they take it up there in bits and assemble it.
Being wimps, we sat inside and drank hot coffee, so my photos through the windows were rubbish - full of reflections and obscured by raindrops. It would have been a lovely trip with beautiful views in sunny weather. When we arrived at the north of the lake, our bus met us and took us back to Pertisau where we were meant to spend the day. Only one person actually wanted to stay for the day, so the rest of us agreed to leave after lunch.
Interestingly enough, Pertisau was the village that was supposed to house the school in the series of books about The Chalet School. Probably only people my age would remember them. They were written in the 1930s and the village was given another name, but this is the village where the original stories were set. Around 1938 or 39, the stories were moved to Switzerland, for obvious reasons. I think I only ever read one of them, I didn’t like them but they were popular at my school - my primary school that was, we’re probably talking 1953 or 54. I always though they were set in Switzerland anyway, as I associated the word ‘chalet’ with Switzerland.
On a nicer day, we would probably have taken the cable car up one of the surrounding mountains, but the clouds today were so low it’s doubtful whether we would have seen anything. It stopped raining after a while, and we wandered along the shore line admiring the scenery - or at least, the bits we could see.
This is the view looking south. It really is a pretty place, and I understand it is a centre for hiking, cycling, sailing and wind and kite surfing - apparently it can get quite windy there. At least we didn’t have that to contend with!
There’s a platform you can climb to get a better view of the place, so we duly climbed it and found the view slightly better.
This is the view looking north. The weather was gradually improving, and we set off back towards the bus, pausing only for a cheese toastie for lunch on the way. We needed something warm!
Back on the bus, we set off down the mountainside again, pausing to photograph the little cog train which terminates nearby. I’d like to have gone for a ride on it, it looks so charming.
This is the dear little engine, you might not be able to see it but his name on the front is Theodor, and he is 135 years old. Apparently you never know what will happen if you choose to ride on the train, as it often breaks down. I don’t know if you are left stranded half way up or down a mountain or if they rescue you. Apparently, it’s the oldest cog railway in Europe.
A bit further down, we stopped again to photograph the view
The clouds were still low and it was quite damp. The place where we stopped had an automaton, a Tyrolean band which played a yodelling song when you put in €1. Our guide put in the money and made us listen to it.
Once down again, we set off for Rattenberg, a small town full of medieval buildings painted in pretty pastel colours.
The town specialised in glassmaking, so there were lots of retail opportunities. Some of the glassware was somewhat reminiscent of Murano.
However, everything was very expensive, and I didn’t think I’d stand much chance of getting anything home in one piece, so I admired but didn’t buy. We decided to visit the church instead. This was a disappointment. The exterior was austere, not unlike the one at the top of this post. The interior I could only describe as some sort of rococo nightmare.
I had the impression that any surface had to be adorned with gilt, or stucco or paint, and frequently all three. Don’t miss the twirly blue columns on the far right, supporting a canopy covered in gilt and stucco. This photo doesn’t show much of the ceiling, which has trompe l’oeil pained panels, surrounded by pained garlands, gilt and more stucco. Paul took no photos at all - he said it was not an experience he wanted to remember!
Amongst the medieval houses I really liked was this one, with wooden galleries at the back
The walls look really thick, especially at the base, and I liked the panels in relief and the single painting.
My back was quite uncomfortable by then, so I rested on a bench while Paul walked around a bit. There was a museum but we didn’t really have time to see it, and I needed to be sitting down anyway. So we went back to the bus, which was waiting for us and returned us to the hotel.
At dinner I got the newsflash from the BBC about the Queen’s death, so was able to pass this on to the rest of our party. Nobody knew what to say. It wasn’t unexpected, but she’s been Queen for so long we just expected her to be there for ever. I’m not particularly a royalist, but she has been a constant in our lives for so long, and seemed to embody things we no longer appear to value, like hard work, integrity and duty. So we are all very sad. And it seems odd to be out of the country when it happened.
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