Kiefersfelden, Germany 2022

Gale force winds buffeted the windows of the apartment. Outside, tree branches littered Berlin’s parks and miniature dogs were getting blown down the sidewalk. It was a chihuahua, if you’re curious. A genuinely powerful storm was blowing it’s way across Germany, and it didn’t care about trees, dogs, or vacation plans. Lena and I were set to leave for Bavaria by train that day, but all train service in northern Germany was disrupted by the storm. Our trip was off to a great start.

The next morning train service resumed and we fought our way onto the ICE, elbowing along the aisle in an effort to find two unreserved seats. Otherwise we’d be stuck standing for 5 hours on our way to Munich. After a quick stopover for a family dinner, we hopped on the last train of the night to Kiefersfelden, our getaway for the week.

Our goal for the trip was to hit the slopes for a few days, but without a car our options were limited. The local ski resort operates a ski bus but you have to call the day before to reserve your spot, so everything was pushed back a day after our arrival. For our free day we enjoyed the fresh mountain air on a 10 kilometer loop from Kiefersfelden over the Austrian border, and back again. There wasn’t much snow on the ground, but we didn’t mind the warmer temperatures for walking around.

We awoke early the next morning and walked downstairs for the ski bus to meet us. A decalled VW bus rolled up, I handed the driver €10 for the both of us, and we were off to Sudelfeld. At the resort, we told the young woman behind the counter we wanted to rent for three days and she shook her head no. I didn’t understand. What do you mean, no? I asked. There were three big groups coming the next day and she couldn’t guarantee us equipment past today. I hadn’t even considered the possiblity of the resort running out of skis to rent. There was no use arguing it, though, so we took what we could get and rented for the day.

We had an awesome day of skiing, exploring a new mountain and getting our snow-legs back after a few years off the slopes. The bang-for-buck ratio felt just about right, and great Bavarian food on the slopes never hurts. The forced one-day limit at Sudelfeld was a blessing in disguise, though. Sudelfeld is a fun local resort for low-key turns or teaching younglings, but it doesn’t boast the epic views that can be found further south. With those epic views in mind we had some planning to do.

My classmates Stephen, Paul, and Leo arrived that evening and we got them up to speed on the situation over food and beers. There was a lot of back and forth but we decided to go for the full Austrian mission despite the hurdles we’d have to jump through. At 6 a.m. the next morning the adventure began.

Our trek started with a short train ride one stop over the border to Kufstein. From there we hopped on a bus that took us to Wörgl — with 27 stops in between. There, we took the S-Bahn regional train to the famed ski town of Kitzbühel. Only, we took it to the center of town, not the stop before that’s right at the gondola. 20 minutes later after walking back to the ski resort we were at our destination. We dipped into a ski rental shop and frantically started the check-in process when an employee told us there was no need to rush because the resort was closed because of high winds. It seemed our fairytale Austrian ski adventure wasn’t meant to be.

We walked up the street to the gondola to look at the live resort map to confirm the bad news. It wasn’t entirely true, but only one gondola and two small lifts were open. Compared to the 57 lifts on the mountain only having access to three felt like a massive defeat. After a brief powwow (without gulasch or beer, sadly), we decided that we’d made it this far so we might as well commit, regardless of conditions. We had also heard that the winds were expected to die down by mid-morning. What felt like hours but was really only 30 minutes later we were on the gondola with rental skis in hand and hope in our hearts. After two runs they shut the entire mountain down.

Everyone on the slopes was forced to ski down to the base of the gondola along a slushy, mogol ravaged, disaster of a run to await further updates. When we got to the bottom the gondola was running (with massives lines) and a few lifts had opened up again so our hope had returned. Over the next hour every lift on the mountain came to life and our Austrian fairytale was back on.

We explored all over the huge resort, testing out every lift we could see. We found the best groomed snow, some leftover powder in need of fresh tracks, and a couple of off-piste kickers for a few successful starfishes and unsuccessful backflips. Over a hearty alpine lunch the clouds cleared and our afternoon was blessed with bluebird skies. The fairytale wasn’t just back on, it was better than our dreams.

We were having too much fun to worry about the time until suddenly time was of the essence. With four lifts and a confusing string of runs between us and the rental shop we suddenly had a daunting task ahead of us. One wrong turn and we’d end up stranded on the mountain or in a different town. As the sun slid below the peaks around us we raced down the slopes, making our way ever closer to the final run. At the bottom of one lift I noticed that the “last chair” time and the “current time” were the same.

When we finally made it to the top of the final run we let out a sigh of relief and pulled out our cameras to capture the immense Kaiser mountains bathed in the last light of the day. Grinning ear-to-ear we pushed off one last time and, not wanting it to end, adopted the most leisurely pace of the day for the final run. Lena and I took it slowly, so by the time we made it to the bottom the boys were already enjoying cold beers and classic Austrian aprés ski pop hits (read: terrible, terrible music). Even our commute home contributed to the fairy tale. The train-bus-train became train-train-train and was 40 minutes shorter. I was in love with Austria.

We all yearned for another amazing day of skiing in Austria, but travel plans and work schedules were unfriendly to our continued fairy tail dreaming. Instead, we hiked up into the foothills of the Kaisergebirge from the other side. Along the way we found a slot canyon with snowmelt gushing down.

Running out of time before Stephen had to return for his train we had to decide between an epic view of the Kaiser mountains and some classic Austrian food and drinks. The food won in the end, but we still snagged a glance of the mountains out the window of the hut.

For our final day Lena and I took the train to Salzburg, a town I’ve visited many times but a first for her. I showed her all of my family’s favorites. Meaning we tasted all of the classic Salzburg foods we could get our hands on: Mozart kugel, Salzburger nockerl, and leberknödelsuppe. (Pro tip: the “original” Mozart kugel from Fürst isn’t as good as the copy from Reber). We also chanced upon an organ performance in the Salzburg Cathedral. An organist played a piece on each of the cathedral’s five organs, filling the chamber with resonant music. The fortress on top of the hill was our final destination before we made our way back to the train station for our ride back to Kiefersfelden.

The next morning as we packed our bags and hopped on the train, excited to remember the trip before it was even over, our phones began to buzz with push notifications. What we’d been talking about in the background for weeks had become a reality: Russia invaded Ukraine. Except for her sister, Lena’s entire immediate and extended family were suddenly living in a warzone and all of our attention went to finding ways to get them to safety. If you’re able to support those affected in any way, please find resources here.

Bay of Naples, Italy 2020 - Part 2

As our ferry from Capri approached Positano we marveled at the hillside strewn with buildings at all angles and the beaches dotted with umbrellas of all colors. There wasn’t a sliver above the water that wasn’t covered in houses, apartments, or stairs.

We stepped foot back on the mainland and took a second to take it all in before we googled how to get to our hotel in the hills. A mere 700 meters away and not accessible by taxi we had no choice but to walk, but we didn’t mind. At least at first. The path meandered along the coast to a secluded beach before making a hard turn up the hill. It felt like a thousand steps and a million drops of sweat before we reached the front door. I huffed and puffed and wiped the sweat out of my eyes as we checked in.

We’d already spent all day in the sun on Capri and didn’t have much daylight left after checking in so I jogged up the hill to the nearest pizzeria for dinner. I hustled back to Olena with two full pizza boxes and a bottle of wine for a sunset picnic looking out over Positano’s harbor. After some limoncello from Capri to top it all off we had no problem hitting the sack as soon as the sun dipped under the horizon.

Before breakfast on the terrace the next morning we slipped out of our room and down the ‘thousand’ steps to the water. No tourists were in town for the day, yet, other than us. We shared the water with a few old men and the fishermen getting their boats ready. Before long hunger drew us back up the steps despite the pristine water. After a few rolls and an espresso to top up the fuel tank we went right back down to the rocky beach for another day of sun and swimming.

Unfortunately, the good vibes didn’t stop the clock from ticking so before long we had to make our way to the bus stop to catch our ride to Sorrento. We hiked up the hill and made it to the bus stop in time for the last bus to Sorrento and settled in to wait for our 5:45 bus.

5:45 came and went and I started to stress but Olena reminded me that we were in Italy. Things are always late. I pushed down my anxiety for another five minutes. And then ten more. And then finally at 6:15 I looked at her in despair.

With no alternative I popped into a cafe and asked them when the bus might be arriving. In perfect English the woman behind the counter explained to me that a wildfire on the road between Positano and Amalfi was wreaking havoc on the bus route but busses were still coming. Supposedly. As we waited for the phantom bus to appear we started making tourist friends who also wondered what to do. We decided we’d grab a taxi to Sorrento together. €100 doesn’t hurt so bad when you split it six ways, afterall.

But then the bus rounded the corner. Olena and I fought to the front of the line to ensure a spot on the packed bus and made our way to the last two seats in the back row. For the next hour and a half we listened to three loud Scots talk about which is better, Ayahuasca or shrooms, as the huge bus barreled along the narrow coastal road. Hundreds of feet above the ocean. Olena and I stared straight ahead and focused on taking deep breaths so we wouldn’t throw up. After what felt like a lifetime on the bus we piled off in Sorrento, happy to have made it in one piece. But our journey still wasn’t over.

We had to walk 2 kilometers along Sorrento’s narrow streets with our bags. And it was beginning to rain. We made it to the hotel without even a drop hitting us, but as soon as we went back outside for dinner the lightning lit up the night sky around us and the rain began to dump. It took all of two minutes running to the nearest restaurant for us to be soaked through by the summer deluge. Our Italian waiter looked at us incredulously as we told him our order, soaking wet, but luckily served us anyway.

Sorrento was meant to be our relaxing location but we started off the next day with an 11 kilometer walk along the cliffs of Sorrento. We kept an eye on Mount Vesuvius across the bay and looked down at the busy beaches below, lined with row after row of lounge chairs and umbrellas to provide respite from the burning sun. By lunch time we were gassed and the hotel pool was all we were interested in for the rest of the day.

Until sunset, that is. Not one to miss a photograph I dragged Olena to the cliffs looking out over the ocean. Camera in one hand and cup in the other, I alternated taking photos and sipping wine while we watched the blazing red sun peak in and out of the clouds all the way down to the horizon.

On our final day in Italy we made the trek from Sorrento back to Rome for our flight back to Berlin. With half a day in Rome we made sure to take in all the biggest sights, even if we had both seen them before. We stopped by the Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon, then walked up the Spanish Steps with hardly a soul in sight.

Over dinner that night we looked back at the past week as if it was some fever dream. We were completely incredulous. I won’t say each city was more beautiful than the next because Capri takes the prize for looks; but each town was so unique and vibrant that I would never tire of exploring. Apparently Olena had the same thought.

“Where are we going next,” Olena asked, before she’d even finished her pasta.

Bay of Naples, Italy 2020 - Part 1

Europe’s COVID stricken summer was drawing to a close and borders were tightening after a short summer tourist season; but Olena and I still had the rest of September off and we were determined to make the most of our free time. While I was biking to Copenhagen she was busy figuring out where we could travel to. She explained our plans over the phone while I was riding along endless cycle paths in the middle of nowhere.

“Flights to Rome are the cheapest,” she began.

“OK,” I said distractedly.

“But you and I have both been to Rome and they don’t have nice beaches,” she continued.

“So we aren’t flying to Rome,” I said.

“No we fly to Rome but then take the train down to Naples. Then we take a ferry to Capri and spend the night. Then we take another ferry to Positano. After a night there we go to Sorrento,” she rattled off excitedly.

“Wait. Where is Capri,” I asked.

“An island off the coast of Italy,” she said, like I was crazy.

“This seems like a lot to do in just a week. Shouldn’t we just pick one place and hang out on the beach? This is supposed to be relaxing, after all.”

“No, no, no. It’ll be amazing, you’ll see,” she said.

Boy, was she right.

That’s how—not even 12 hours after getting back to Berlin from my Copenhagen bike trip—I found myself making my way to the airport at 5 a.m. to fly to Rome.

After our flight and a few trains we made it to Naples around noon and started walking to our hotel. We dodged scooters coming from all directions while avoiding piles of trash and mystery liquids in the gutter. We dropped our bags and made our way right back into the fray of Naples, meandering along the Via dei Tribunali in search of lunch: pizza. A neapolitan pie quickly made all of the disarray of Naples seem worth it and it gave us all the energy we needed to charge through the rest of the day’s activities.

We explored a handful of churches, and as much of the Spanish Quarter as we could handle. Which really isn’t much. We hiked up to the San Martino Monastery for views of Mount Vesuvius and refueled with espresso along the way. After 10 hours we’d already seen all of Naples that we wanted to see, and capped it off with a rich pasta dinner and a bottle of wine.

With Naples checked off our lists, the next day we made like tourists and took the train to Pompeii. Neither of us had been entirely set on going to Pompeii but once we were there we had a blast getting lost among the city’s ancient streets and exploring villas from another time. But after four hours in the Italian heat we called it a day and made our way back to the hotel. On our way we grabbed a pizza from the famous L’Antica Pizzeria da Michele (Eat, Pray, Love, anyone?) and scarfed it down before passing out.

The next morning we zipped up our bags and made our way to the ferry port for our trip to Capri, a small, picturesque island known for limoncello and mega yachts. After shuffling on to the island with a load of tourists we made our way to the scooter shop to get our hands on some wheels. It wasn’t going to be cheap. But it sure beat getting a ton of taxis or sharing air with a dozen other people on Capri’s tiny buses.

I reassured the scooter shop that I knew how to ride a scooter before swerving out onto the street with Olena on the seat behind me and our bags tucked in wherever we could find space. I pulled the throttle back as far as it would go and the little-yellow-scooter-that-could coughed its way up the hill surrounding Capri’s harbor. I struggled to navigate the hairpin turns with the scooter so heavily loaded but after a harrowing ride we made it to our hotel in the mountains.

Not wanting to waste a minute on the idyllic island we tossed our bags in our room and hopped right back on the scooter to explore. The turns were much easier to navigate without bags so we started to enjoy the ride as we made our way up the mountain and over to the south western tip of the island to the beach.

We laid out in the sun and listened to the waves lapping against the rocks. Oh, and the children screaming at the top of their lungs as they jumped into the water. Families swarmed around us, teaching the young ones how to swim and splashing each other in the hot sun.We succumbed to our hunger pangs before the sun got too near the horizon and buzzed on our scooter back to town for dinner and the sunset.

We set our alarms for just before sunrise and rushed out onto the terrace as the sun’s rays turned everything orange. We took picture after picture until the heat of the sun started to overwhelm us, not even 30 minutes after sunrise.

Then, with sunrise over, we made our way straight to La Fontanilla, an exclusive beach club and restaurant that felt like a dream. We soaked up the sun until we got too hot to think straight and then jumped into the turquoise water, over and over again. All morning and afternoon we rotisseried until we had to leave to catch the last ferry to Positano.