25 Ottobre

Fall is upon us in Sardegna and the mornings have brought chilly weather and steam rising off the still-warm Mediterranean. The days are still sunny and bright, but there is a little edge in the air that reminds us that it is no longer summer. That said, we truly were able to experience fall recently on a trip to Garmisch, Germany and were reminded of how beautiful fall’s colors can be and how much we have missed the change in seasons since living away from New England for the last few years. It was enchanting to see the reds and yellows of giant deciduous trees reflected in tranquil mountain lakes settled beneath the snow-capped Bavarian Alps. The magic of the mountains was enhanced by the presence of perfectly-placed mountain huts to which you could arrive after several hours of hiking and enjoy a bowl of borscht, a mass (a frosty mug) of Dunkel or Hefeweissen (the local dark or light wheat beer), and a brez’n (delicious doughy pretzels which I tried to recreate at home with somewhat gooey success).

Generally, our days there started with a walk into town, passing by the verdant green fields dotted with sheep clanging their bells and picturesque wooden hay-drying huts on our way to what became our favorite local Backerei to get a pastry and cappuccino. We decided that the Germans must really like nuts and seeds while surveying an impressive array of hearty looking rolls containing things from pumpkin seeds to chili peppers and beet juice. We stuck to the sweeter types, opting for cherry turnovers and poppy seed-swirled rolls. Then, we would strike off on the day’s hike, walking along perfectly-maintained paths criss-crossing the mountains with not an ounce of trash along the way (a welcome relief from Sardegna), until we eventually reached Partnach Alm or Elmau Alm Hutte or one of the other afore-mentioned mountain huts. There, we would relax in the sun at a picnic table on the deck and eat a tasty meal while enjoying the surrounding mountain views. Usually, we were able to obtain an English menu, but, on one particular afternoon there were none to be found and the only words we were able to decipher were wurst (sausage) and kartopfel (potato). While these were components of nearly every dish, we couldn’t quite figure out the differences between them. Thankfully, a friendly couple sharing our picnic table offered to help us and proved to be much more adept at English than they gave themselves credit for. Even so, I somehow wound up with Leberknodel soup – a giant liver dumpling floating in broth, which was not exactly the knodel I’d hoped for, but was surprisingly tasty. This couple was a great example of the many middle-aged hikers we saw on the trail who tackled climbs that challenged even our young, spry legs. We were most impressed by the jolly, ruddy-cheeked older folks who greeted us with “Gruss-gott” as we crossed paths. Not really knowing what this meant at first, we simply returned the greeting, but soon began using it ourselves as it always elicited a smile from passersby. We were relieved to later learn that it is simply another way to say “hello” that is specific to Bavaria.

While most days we started out from our hotel and got right on one of the many nearby trails, one morning we indulged and took one of the many ski lifts, the Olympiabahn, partway up and began our hike from there. The lift originated at the Stadium built for the 1936 Olympics by Hitler, who merged the towns of Garmisch and Partenkirchen for the games. It was a little eery to walk around the stadium and think of the history of this area. Once on the lift, the views from above were amazing including a favorite scene of a man pitchforking hay into one of the drying huts tucked amongst hummocky green hills and black and white goats clanging their brass bells.

The many miles hiked were absolutely worth it to be able to see sights like the Partnach gorge, reached after switchbacking down a steep trail towards the rushing river. We followed a narrow path along the rocks that was barely one person wide, dripping with moisture and with sunlight filtering down through the vibrant leaves far above the rocky gorge. Another day, we passed by the Reisersee, a mirror-like mountain lake reflecting the colorful leaves of the trees surrounding it and with a picturesque Bavarian lodge at one end. I visited another lake solo while Chad went to see the former concentration camps and museum in Dachau and enjoyed grand views of the Zugspitze, Germany’s highest peak at 2962 meters above the Eibsee (“see” is German for lake). And, we had to see a castle while there, so we hiked up to the Elmauschloss which we found out was not, in fact, an ancient castle, but was constructed in 1913 by a wealthy artist as a retreat for his friends. It then burned and was recently reconstructed as a luxury hotel. At $5,000, you and your friends can rent the Grand Suite, encompassing the entire top floor of the castle. We only made it as far as the lobby. Our final day, we packed in one last hike up to St. Andrew’s Hutte, an impressively short but steep climb a wonderful view 1084 meters up, noticing along the way that the leaves were even brighter than they had been upon our arrival just five days before.

Every evening, without fail, we enjoyed the soothing, bubbling jets of the outdoor hot-tub at our hotel, reinvigorating our tired limbs just enough to be able to walk into town for dinner. From the lodge, we walked past crisp white stucco buildings with dark wooden half-timbers defining their heavy roofs and balconies filled with overflowing window-boxes of bright pink and red geraniums into the pedestrian zone of Garmisch where we had been greeted on our first day with a performance of a genuine oompah band complete with a tuba player and costumed musicians in leather shorts, tall woolen socks and smart felt hats. Despite my German heritage, the cuisine doesn’t exactly agree with my stomach, so we instead found an array of Chinese, Japanese, Indian, and Greek food amongst a few dinners of traditional Bavarian fare. Our favorite spot of these (don’t mind the name) was the Café Mukkefucke where we tried the apfelstruedel and weinerschnitzel just to get a taste of the authentic.

And, as we were in Bavaria during Oktoberfest, we had to enjoy the festivities in Munich for at least one day. We took the train from Garmisch, arriving in the city just in time for the noon playing of the famous glockenspiel in the Marienplatz (the historic center), pushing through the crowds to see the carved wooden figurines turning around high up in the clock tower. From there, we headed to the Theresienwiese or Wies’n fairgrounds, to meet up with some friends at the famous Hofbrau house. This was one of many giant tents set up for Oktoberfest which was filled with beer-drinking, sausage-eating, merry folks and stages full of oompah bands. It was quite a scene with more people standing on tables than sitting, waitresses impressively carrying 6-8 liters of beer at a time in heavy krugs (liter-sized thick glass mugs) and repeated “prost-ing” with people we’d just met, but who seemed to take to us rather quickly. We had read that there was a special word, “Wiesenbekanntschaft,” to describe friends made at Oktoberfest and now we began to understand its meaning as we left with several email addresses and pictures of new acquaintances. It was a bit like a giant fraternity party, but people were generally better behaved and we managed to leave without any beer-soaked clothing.

Nonetheless, a few hours and a few masses later, we emerged in a bit of a beer-induced fog to investigate the rest of the fair. The grounds outside were filled with carnival games, stomach-dropping rides, and all kinds of fair food from brez’n to wurst to steckerlfisch (fish roasted on stick and served whole wrapped in newspaper which I wasn’t quite brave enough to try). And finally, we left the Weis’n and walked back through the city, stopping by the famous Viktualenmarket filled with local fruits, meats, cheeses, and assorted crafts before collapsing onto the train for the long ride home. It was quite a day.

And, finally we returned to Palau after almost a week’s vacation, having gained a new appreciation for the German tourists here that often frustrate us with their brusque impatient style after experiencing the cleanly efficiency the pervades Bavaria in contrast with the slow pace of la dolce vita here. Not to have too much time to absorb our new experiences, we began the following week with a diving excursion to Lavezzi, an island off of Corsica that is famous for its giant Cernia (grouper). We had been awaiting a calm day with little swell to venture out there and we lucked out on Columbus Day and had a great dive where we looked eye-to-eye with these giant fish.

We got back just in time for Chad to rush off to the airport to pick up his parents who had freshly arrived from New Hampshire. Our adventures with them included a daytrip back to Corsica to visit the city of Bonifaccio and eat fantastic fish soup and peppercorn steak on a sun-filled terrace in the old city, a boat trip with our landlord to see the archipelago and do a bit of snorkeling in the famous turquoise waters of the Porta de la Madonna, and the usual patented tours of the Friday Palau farmer’s market followed by the panoramic drive of La Maddalena and tour of Isola Capera across the causeway. We also packed in trips to Punta Sardegna to see the whimsical houses tucked in the rocks and the hobbit-like Porto Rafael with its tiny inviting gates and garden paths and also to Castelsardo to see the 12th century Genoese castle perched high above the water, swinging by some natural hot springs on the way back in nearby Casteldoria that I vowed to return to for a good soak in the near future.

And for the final leg of the Olcotts’ visit, we headed to Tuscany where we reunited after they had a weekend cooking course in Florence with their new best friend, Claudio, the chef, who taught them how to prepare delightful Tuscan dishes ranging from roast venison with chestnuts to a sauce of local wild porcini mushrooms. Upon our reunion, we were given a tour of Claudio’s and served steaming hot cappuccinos to help us to warm up in the crisp fall Tuscan air. From there, we were off to Siena, zigzagging along windy roads over the dusty Sienese cypress-dotted hills and ogling over the beautiful scenery. There, we found our way through medieval streets to the famous Piazza del Campo, dominated by the 14th century Torre del Mangia, to a sunny spot for lunch. Then, it was off to the Basilica San Domenico, home of the mummified head of St. Catherine of Siena, which we had seen on our bike trip here four years ago but Chad felt the need to re-view – a ghastly vision indeed. Quite chilled by this point by the wind and the sight of St. Catherine, we were ready to return to the lovely Agriturismo Villa San Andrea, sited on a hilltop in the tiny village of Fabbrica, where we were to spend the night. It was built on the site of a 13th century castle that was destroyed in WWII, with only one guard tower and a part of the outer wall remaining. There, we enjoyed a stroll through the vineyards, now mostly emptied of their grapes after the recent harvest, though we did manage to find a few remaining deep purple bunches with surprisingly sweet fruit, and also some very noisy pigs which weren’t too eager to have their picture taken. A lovely sunset there with ethereal painterly pink and melon-colored clouds capped off the day and gave us a few moments in the quiet darkness to rest before dinner. Our dinner was at Ristorante Macerata tucked amidst olive trees along a long dirt road not too far from our hotel. There, we feasted on roast suckling pork, venison in red wine sauce, fresh pasta with more famous porcini mushrooms and ricotta-stuffed ravioli with brightly flavored pesto accompanied by wonderful local red wine and followed by Schiacciata alla Fiorentina, a traditional Florentine cake of puff pastry and cream. It could not have been improved upon.

The next morning, the Olcotts were off to the train station in Florence to head north to Munich before the long flight back across the Atlantic and Chad and I headed south to the hilltop town of Montalcino, famous for its Brunello wine. We had a yet another fantastic Tuscan meal of herb-crusted rabbit and hearty bean soup with glasses of Brunello and Vino Rosso at a cozy trattoria that provided a moment’s respite from the chilling winds blowing through the stony streets of town. This was followed by a bit of wine tasting at a wine shop inside the old fortress which dominated one end of town. The proprietress there was quite patient with us and helped us to choose a few bottles to return home with and let us sample those that we could only afford to sip. After strolling down the skinny streets, colorful flags whipping in the wind along the way, we were in need of a bit of caffeination before the twisty drive back towards Livorno and stopped at the cozy Café Fiaschetteria, dating back to 1888 where we sipped café on plush velvet chairs and shared a bit of cocoa-dusted torta.

Our drive back to Livorno was perfectly timed to enjoy a glowing sunset over the Tuscan hills after one final stop to visit the Romanesque white marble Abby Sant’Antimo where we sadly learned we were too early to hear the monks sing their evening vespers and couldn’t stay long enough without missing our ferry home. It was nonetheless a lovely church settled among olive trees along twisting paths beneath the town of Castlenuovo dell’Abate picturesquely sitting on top of a hill inside the old castle wall. Our trip finally ended with wine and pizza on the ferry while rereading the Tuscan entries from the journal of our honeymoon bike trip four years ago and commenting both what a wonderful trip that was but also how free we were in traveling by car to explore this hilly country so easily and to be able to bring back its wonderful wines as well. And now, we are home on our island enjoying the quiet of fall.