We took a long weekend south of Munich in the Alpine foothill town of Schliersee situated on the lake of the same name. On arrival, Lisa wanted to take a warm-up hike, nothing too strenuous and she’d found the perfect easy trip in a hiking book we’d brought along. So after checking into our rather nice hotel we took off down the road for a light hike up the Wendelstein Mountain towards one of it’s high alpine pastures. See some of the pictures by clicking here.
Here’s my mistake, I didn’t look at the book Lisa was using to pick the short trip. Can you say over 2,000 vertical feet up? Their idea of a mild walk was probably accurate for experienced hikers … Lisa, and to a lesser extent myself, are not. We had a nice beer at the top with some local mountaineers who continually teased Lisa about her Franconia dialect and seemed amused at her distressed queries about a car that might drive her down. So after we’d been to our pasture and had our beer down we went … the wrong (read much longer) way down; but it was nice day all the same. The hotel bar proved worthy.
On day two, we opted to simply walk around the local lake and take it easy. The photos around the lake weren’t as nice as I’d have liked due to low clouds but we did get Lisa some walking sticks for day three. The town happened to be celebrating its lake festival … we had a table right on the lake with a magnificent view of the mountains … without our trusty camera (sigh).
Day three, another hike, another mountain. We found a lovely mountain hut that the book said served drinks, no food. The owners turned out to be very interesting folk of the robust Bavarian mode and we ended up having a great hearty soup to go with a beer. Lisa toured the upstairs rooms for rent declaring that I needed to come back for an overnight (note that she didn’t include herself here, no normal bath and the only way up is afoot). The somewhat older owner (possibly seventy), with white beard and hair, an earring, tattoo and deep tan, sat barefoot on the porch chatting with a guest while sipping a beer; the wife picked me for American immediately (usually, they think I’m Dutch, maybe English) … and then told of their month in Chicago cycling through the town in Bavarian traditional dress (him in leather pants … I had to laugh at that thought!). The question, who was more out of place?
