Day 25

We are now in Hallstatt, a small village in the Austrian Alps.  It is achingly beautiful and, one of, if not the most, idyllic setting I've ever set my eyes on.  The village is a strip of Austrian gingerbread homes tiered on the side of a cliff, alongside a crystal blue mountain lake with soaring mountains on all sides.  Flowers spill out of planters on wooden balconies and the decidious trees amoung the dark green pines on the mountain slopes are turning red and yellow.  Our rented apartment is on the lake and we are splurging for a few nights.  Tomorrow we're doing a hike to a glacier.  I could easily spend the rest of my days here.

We took the train from Vienna -- we hurtled through the beautiful Austrian countryside as fairyland villages tucked in the folds of green hills with gingerbread houses painted in various shades of pastel and little churches with their perfect steeples peaking over the treetops flitted by like phantasmagoric scenes in a dream. 

Traveling by train across the European countryside once again made me appreciate: 1) the european rail system which spiderwebs throughout the continent, making it easy to get anywhere without a car.  It makes me yearn for the day when our leaders have the foresight and political will to do the same in the states; 2) how much open land remains -- on a continent so old and inhabitated by civilized comunities for so long, its a wonder (to an American like myself who see cities bloat in good times in the bat of an eye) that the entire swath of land is not one giant swollen city, with field and pasture gone, and mountains obliterated in the name of onward progress.  I guess the people gotta eat, and with the vast amount of human beings mashed onto such a small continent they have no choice but to live in dense cities and compressed villages, leaving the rest for growing food and recreation.  It also helps that the population levels have been thinned out over the centuries by plague and war.  And given its shortage of land and bloodied history, its truly amazing that the european people are now living in relative harmony, under one loose union.

As we approached the Alps today I remembered the moment 2 years ago when Erin and I were standing in a park in the hill town of La Mora in the Piedmonte staring out across the vineyard strewn valley below at the towering Mt. Blanc and its jagged snow-capped buddies.  I thought at the time I must one day come back and walk in these mountains.  And here we are and walk we will.

Back to Vienna and St. Stephen's cathedral.  Lord.  If the object of the builder was to make the sheep drop to their knees in awe, to build a place here on earth for god to be venerated, I say he succeeded mightily.  As I crossed the threshold I thought about converting.  The graceful arches and intricate stonework are breathtaking.  I wanted to roll out my Big Agnus and sleeping bag and spend the night there.  And what a marked difference between the earthy 4th to 6th century churches dotting the Georgian/Armenian countryside and the grandiose cathedrals of Europe.  While the architects of the Georgian/Armenian churches sought to create the illusion of God's presence, they also aimed to erect a building which also celebrates man's connection to the earth.  I dug that.

There is a dude at the bar where I'm now sitting with the the greatest laugh I've ever heard.  I want to buy him a beer.

On the train I had the opportunity for the first time during our travels to write in earnest (on notepad).  And while we trundled across the Austrian countryside I thought a bit more about our travels in the Caucuses.  I think the words that best sum up the last few weeks were uttered by one of the decisive Czechs.  He said, in his broken English, his tired eyes more eloquent than his words, his voice plaintive and defeated -- he said:  "No more mashrutkas."  It was a tiring 3 weeks but more than worth it in my opinion.  I think the hardest thing for us (and I'm sure Erin will talk more in depth about this) was that we always felt like we just got off the UFO, skin green and slimy, head cone-shaped, eyes bulging -- especially in Karabakh where tourists are as rare as outdoor garbage cans.  But I guess that is why we travel -- to throw ourselves into the unknown.  The number of times Erin and/or I sat dumbly staring, faces blank, not knowing what was going on, are too many to count.  But those are the memories that endure.  And the past few weeks generated a number of them for us to ponder in our remaining years.

The Armenians are a people of many contradictions.  They dress neatly but feel no compunction to throw their trash in a garbage bin.  They drive frenetically but walk about lazily.  They drive Mercedes and BMWs (for which they apparently save up for years) but live in squalid conditions.  Armenia Armenians fought for Karabakh Armenians but now they don't like them.  They kind of like the Turks now even though the Turks sill refuse to acknowledge that they once killed 1.5 million Armenians by means of mass slaughter and deportation and support Azerbejain in its claim to Karabakh.  Lenin statutes were torn down after the fall of the Soviet Union and parks and plazas were renamed, but there still seems to be a nostalagia for the soviet era when, in the words of 2 people we spoke to, it was easier, when everyone had electricity, gas, water and a warm home or flat to live in.  I think that is why I found it so fascinating.

The bartender is now working a rubic's cube while a number of Austrian patrons watch with bated breathe.

Sorry to carry on.  The sun is setting and the granite is pink.  Beautiful.

Beat State.