The Time I Almost Got Frostbite

Innsbruck, Austria, 2017.

  Last week this time, I had boarded a train which would whisk me off from the hum-drum and into the throes of something magical. At least, that is what I'd hoped; you see, the weather had been terrible. So I ate my doughnut and drank my coffee, all before I reached Jenbach. And no, I did not expect Jenbach to provide me with my dose of 'something magical'.

  After a somewhat brief thirty-three minutes, the train glided into the train station and me, bundled in a multitude of layers of clothing, which I hoped would shield me from the biting frost, my camera bag, and my now empty cup of coffee, stepped out on to the assuring concrete. As I found my way to the bus stop, I thought, almost euphorically, I'm finally going to Achensee. After months of procrastination and shitty situations, I am finally going.

  Either if you personally know me or if you have been reading this blog long enough, you know that my luck is the most rotten thing you will ever come across - worse-than-bread-that-has-mould-growing-on-it-contaminating-everything-else-in-the-fridge rotten. So, there is no way that my moment of jubilation could have lasted. Now that we have that out of the way, allow me to narrate exactly what happened.

  As I mentioned, my brain was experiencing a simmering elation at finally having gotten my lazy ass out of bed and en route Achensee. Having found the right bus stop, I gratefully plonked myself down on an empty wooden bench, right next to a pair of lovesick teens, who giggled like there was no tomorrow. My glove clad hands - my body was finally au fait with the cold - scour my bag for the book I had brought along. Having found it, I open it to the dog-eared page. The book was alright; it was about a psychiatry resident and his various encounters, many of which were amusing enough.

  After reading a few pages, I look up at the digital screen which would tell me when my bus would come. I was not pleased by what I saw. There was a sadistic 54 next to 83328.

  Fifty four fucking minutes! 
  Why did I have to wake up at 6 a.m. again? 
  Oh, that's right, I picked the one place in all of Austria with bad public transport.

  I had already lost most of the feeling in my hands and the tittering next to me seemed to have gotten louder in the past - I looked at my watch - only five minutes had passed? I contemplated drinking another cup of coffee but, in the end, my snobbishness about coffee obviated this urge. So I sat there for the next  forty nine minutes, hoping - no, almost praying - that the bus would arrive before I got frostbite, which it obviously did. 

  NOT!

  The bus came a looooong time after I had lost all feeling in my hands, the cold had even become sort of pleasant. That is when you know you're in trouble. Although, gratefully, after a long ten minutes enshrouded in the warmth of the heated bus, I did regain some feeling in my hands, all the while being subjected to the unaffected giggling of teenagers, who for some fucking reason were immune to the cold. 

  That's it for now. This blogpost was my attempt at conserving my ever-positive outlook on life. Until next time. 

Love,
Teenagers are blood-sucking monsters.

Autumn in Hall in Tirol

  It smells of earth that has recently had it's surface kissed by transparent pellets falling from the sky. The streets in Hall in Tirol protested Fall with their vibrant flowers to always keep one company. A gentle breeze caused the beautiful, parched leaves, clinging to their trees by nothing more than mere will, to fall and the already Fallen, strewn on the ground, to find a new home away from their former one.

  In my three ripe years spent in Europe, this was the first year when I appreciated the simple grace of Autumn. There was the faint chirping of a single bird, which seemed to originate from the tree in front of the olive green park bench, where my coffee and me were perched in our solitude. More brown leaves succumbed to the loving wind, while the healthy ones danced, as the church bells chimed. It was four o'clock. A window on my left reflected the vivid blue sky with no wisps of white to diminish it's vastness.

  I heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance, but, here, in my oasis, surrounded by the murmuring trees and the quiet of idle cobblestone streets of a small town, I feel partitioned from the plights of my fellow humans. It looks like more birds have joined; the chirping has increased in both - its frequency and its urgency.

  This town is a luxury for eyes that have been subjected to everything city: traffic signals, traffic, students, monotonous days and never-ending concrete. Hall in Tirol reminded me of Italy - Treviso, in particular. As I sat there, finally having sipped the last of my coffee - only the foam remained - the sun played Hide n Seek with the leaves, often procreating newer, darker patterns on them.

  I felt exhausted, despite having slept for a decent amount of time. Needless to say that the coffee had not done it's job. I'm going to stop writing now, I wrote in my journal. 

Until next time.
Love,
Anmol

Rattenberg And My First Snowman!

  Two absolutely amazing things happened today. First, for the first time ever I saw Europe in all its wintery glory. For the first time ever I had to trudge in freshly fallen virgin snow on my way to any place. Second, I think I saw my first ever snowman right here in the middle of a sidewalk. All the snow around it had been removed. Only the merry little snowman remained. The best part? It was the cutest little thing ever. 

  I also went to Rattenberg, Austria's smallest town, with a population of a 'whopping' four hundred people. It was a colourful little town. The kind which normally sees hoards of honeymooners, sipping on Spritz or coffees, in the summer months. It gave me the impression of an incredibly romantic town. At least that is what I gathered from the under all that snow. This little summer town also has a church, which is well worth a visit. On the way to the church you may notice a lift. Ride it up to the terrace, which offers you a view of the entire city, and which also leads you to the Schlossberg. 

  I do admit that on a day like this, where the snow was falling in abundance, accompanied by wind, the town - although beautiful - did give me the creeps. There was hardly a soul in sight. Yes, the weather was the guilty party. But in all fairness, with a population of four hundred how much busier can it really get?

  Anyway, my last tip for anyone interested to pay this little town a visit is to take a right after Postgasse and walk straight, until you see a few steps, which on climbing lead you to a view of the river and the houses dotting alongside the river. This really does make up for the tedious trundling because of the snow. After what seemed like an eternity to me, I walked back, furious shivering and on the verge of loosing one of my limbs to frostbite, towards the station, bidding Rattenberg adieu.