Hallstatt, Austria - My Favorite Place on Earth

August 2016

I finished the book Wild by Cheryl Strayed today. I never saw the movie before picking up the book. As I wandered around this summer, reading it at the beach, or elsewhere, those that knew me quickly chimed in with, “God, I hope you’re not reading that thinking that’s what your trip will be like!” and “why are you reading that, I have only seen the movie, but its so dark!”. I smiled and simply answered with, I haven’t seen the movie, and don’t know what it’s about, but am enjoying it so far. I knew why I had picked up the book though. I bought it, along with the Revenant, in a book shop at the airport in Vienna, on a single rack that contained the only english books in the store. I’m sure there were other options, decidedly less extreme, but these were the ones I wanted. I wanted the realistic, nail-biting struggle against nature tales that forced the characters to discover something in themselves. Sure, I wasn’t hiking the Appalachian Trail, or ascending the mountains of India, I was simply jumping from hostel to hostel, making new friends and attending family dinners with a complimentary beer at the end. Despite that, I felt like what I was doing was similar. I didn’t choose to embark on my trip so that I could spend the last few months partying it up before I had to find a job. I chose to do it because I wanted to grow into myself more. I wanted to challenge all the pre-conceived notions of myself - believing that they were just simply habits of comfort, rather than characteristics I was bound to for the rest of my life. I too was taking a big trip, all by myself, into lands I had never traveled, with no comforts from home, no idea what might happen, where I might end up, or if it would turn out the way that I thought it would - just like Cheryl Strayed. 

The week leading up to my arrival at the Vienna airport, I had been in Hallstatt, a UNESCO World Heritage Town, consisting of maximum 30 buildings and a single church, completely enclosed by a 260 view of the alps and a lake smack dab in the middle of it. It was and still is my favorite place I have ever gone to, and in my opinion, was also the peak of my trip - the blank of a story, where everything in the book has led up to that one moment, and the rest of the book is about where that one moment takes the character. I had decided on this location because I had spent the previous 2 weeks in Ibiza going to a minimum of 2 concerts a day, and I knew that the perfect destination to follow would be a respite, a place to detox and replenish. When I arrived, I inquired about the hiking trails, and discovered that it was about an hour hike up to the salt mines, where I could take a tour, and then either descend the same way, or continue on a hike that would take me around the Dachstein Mountains and back into the town from the other side. Hiking the alps? Why not. So, on my last day, when I knew I had to make a 5 o clock ferry, I awoke around 7am, enjoyed my breakfast, and set out on what was meant to be a day of pouring rain, up to the salt mines. By the time I took my tour of the salt mines it was about noon. When leaving, I knew I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, and that I had plenty of time to continue on my hike. I followed the map to a steep hill behind the salt mines, where an employee called out to me that the entrance was the other way. I replied that I just came from there and would be continuing on the hike around the mountains. He said nothing and departed, leaving me feeling that maybe this route was not a common one, but one I was intent on taking nonetheless. An hour in, I was still at the mercy of the beauty surrounding me, spinning and laughing, in awe that I could be somewhere so unbelievably breathtaking. I soon discovered how high I actually was, and took the liberty of calling out echoes into the far spanning wilderness. Two hours hour went by, and while I remained in awe, I grew more and more nervous that I was quite far, and that I wouldn’t be making it back in time, so I decided to run. And run I did, the rest of the way down, but not without stopping and taking a picture, and then running, and then stopping and seeing a glacier and saying holy shit! and then running again, and then stopping and crying, and catching my breath, and running again, and then stopping and thinking I heard something, to then running again, until suddenly I had run all the way down and arrived at the bottom of the alps 4 hours later, but still seemingly far from the town where my ferry would be leaving from in just an hour.