Austria. When I ask myself what Austria is for me, a kaleidoscope of imagery, emotions, memories, honesty, warmth and the purest of love flood me. The millions of tiny puzzle pieces which make up that impossibly complicated answer cascade into my mind and light it aglow with calm. There is no single answer. It’s impossible — and that impossibility is too a part of the answer. Somehow, Austria has always felt impossibly familiar, impossibly comfortable, impossibly part of me.
It’s only suiting the first trip living back in Europe full-time is to Austria. We spent two days in Salzburg, largely devoted to wedding tasks and fulfilling a deep-harbored wish of owning a Dirndl (now, I wish to wear nothing else nor understand modern fashion). We are now bundled up in a chalet in Kitzbühel, as I write beside a traditional Tirolean fireplace. I’m not sure of the exact name, but it creates a cosy warm; it’s different than all other types of warm. Someone out there knows what I mean.
Kitzbühel is new to me, and I’m still spinning together my impression of it. Thus far, the town is a charming, vibrant alpine oasis where modern European luxury seems to stand evenly alongside the Tirolean character I admire so deeply.
As Austrian days should be, the mornings start with a hearty breakfast of all local breads, Bergkäse (mountain cheese), butter, honey, jam and eggs. Breakfast is always followed by walk or hike — both of which clear my mind, heart and strengthen their abilities to cooperate with one another on paper. The sweet perfume of pines mixed with the physical clarity only alpine air could produce…it’s a magic. That power follows me into my dreams until it wakes me up again in the morning, tempting me to the window for for another majestic sunrise, another daydream, another idea. From strolls around Schwarzsee to our impromptu seven mile hike today, Austria’s magic always demands me to be outdoors. One must earn their Kaiserschmarren somehow.
We’ll soon move on to Innsbruck and its familiar neighboring villages. Until then, I’m cherishing these quiet moments of discovering new impressions in Austria. I determinedly speak German most of the day, encouraging my soul to flirt more boldly with the language. I feel this autumn is being written into my memory as one not to be forgotten. The last autumn which felt like this was two autumns ago, our first autumn living in New York. The decision to move back to Europe had been brewing in my gut since those fall leaves fell. It was inevitable. It was written. I feel impossibly calm, impossibly at home, impossibly aligned with the plot…impossibly happy to be home at last.
Impossible. How much I love Austria. The magic Austria stirs inside of me has no restraint. It will seep into the words, the photos and all the stories to come. Austria has never been a choice xx
