A Bavarian Pole Party Fit for a…..Pole

The story of the Bavarian maypole has to be my favourite Bavarian tradition yet. For the blue and white poles you see dotted around this part of Germany aren’t just any old chunks of decorated tree. They are practically Bavarian royalty.

Each village in our rural parts has one of these poles proudly standing somewhere central and stretching high – very high – into the sky. You usually see them somewhere central, like outside the local Rathaus (town hall) or by the main green. As you can see in this picture, even the guinea pigs at Munich Zoo have one.

They are made from a tree cut down from one of the many nearby forests, and then decorated with the emblems of local trades people, like the butcher, the baker, and the candle-stick maker. Every few years they are replaced by a new pole, which is usually hoisted up on May Day during a party involving lots of beer, men in lederhosen, and women in dirndls. It’s a very proud moment for the villagers, because it’s taken a lot for that pole to go from tree trunk to the biggest erection in the village.

The Royal pole would usually have spent the days or even weeks leading up to May Day being guarded at a top secret location by the local villagers. Sometimes it’s hidden in an old barn, or somewhere big enough to hold this bloody huge tree trunk. Not the easiest thing to conceal in say, someone’s lounge, is it?  The pole is guarded with the villagers’ lives because it is completely legal for rival villagers with nothing better to do to steal the pole before it is put up. Yes, really. Despite being a land known for its rules and religion, the Germans bend the ‘thou shalt not steal’ commandment when it comes to the Royal Poles, allowing a kind of pole theft- free-for-all. Respect.

In fact, this did actually happen this year in a town not far from us. In the dark of the night one town’s pole was pinched by the folk of a neighbouring town, who managed to locate it with the help of secret servicemen and then override its alarm system. Yep, some of these poles have an alarm system. For a village to have its pole stolen under its very eyes is a huge embarrassment. The said pole was eventually returned, along with crates of beer for the thieves and their red-faced victims to enjoy together.

On the Royal Pole’s big day, its appearance is given the final once over before it is released from its secret hiding place into the big wide world. It is then usually paraded around on the back of a truck or by horse as part of a celebratory procession, a bit like a blushing carnival queen. The men of the village then precariously hoist it into position, often using long bits of wood. This can take hours. During that time lots of beer is consumed by the lads with the life of the pole – and many of their neighbours watching – in their sweaty, beery hands.

This is a nerve-wracking time. Not because the huge tree trunk could fall down and seriously injure someone. But because, more importantly, some poles have been known to break and then those buggers from the other villages can come along, point at the broken trunk, and laugh out loud at their competitors’ agony.

Once the pole is finally in place, the party really gets started, and even more beer is consumed.

This tradition in Bavaria goes back to the 12th century, and it clearly hasn’t changed much since. But of course in the end it’s all a bit of fun, and a great excuse for Bavarians to bolster their great community spirit and have a few beers at the same time. Prost!

Regensburg: Bavaria’s Coolest City?

I love Regensburg.  For a city that boasts some of the best-preserved medieval architecture in Europe, Regensburg is young, vibrant, fun, and cool. The University City is also stunningly beautiful and full of really really interesting places to devour food. The world’s oldest sausage kitchen? It’s in Regensburg! Germany’s oldest chocolate shop? Yay, in Regensburg! One of the oldest hospital breweries in Bavaria? Yep, Regensburg. (Why would a hospital need a brewery? Contrary to popular belief Bavarians, beer only cures confidence issues).

But back to Regensburg. It’s easy to explore the German city’s main attractions, colourful squares and cosy alleys in a day. It’s also just 90 minutes on a train from Munich, and well worth the trip.  (It’s been declared a World Heritage Site, don’t you know.)

We arrived by car from our little part of Bavaria and spent a full day soaking up the best of Regensburg. The first thing that struck me about this city is how similar it is to Prague. From their narrow winding backstreets, to their huge gothic cathedrals, and their old bridges over the rivers, the two medieval cities are somewhat in sync. While it’s not as large as the Czech city, Regensburg crams in over 700 spots for eating and drinking – minus Prague’s huge crowds and drunken stag parties. Hooray!

It also has lots of cool shops, a buzzing street market, and a relaxed, laid-back vibe. Me loves.

The temperature was a whole 1C on the day we decided to visit. But the sun was beaming down on the cute, cobbled streets, and it seemed everyone was out visiting the market, drinking in cafes, or simply wandering around like us.

Regensburg is very different to where we live in Bavaria. We live in a small village where people generally have one eye and women get beaten with a stick every time they leave the kitchen. Ok, so it’s not that bad, but you get the picture. I love it here really, but we all need a change from time to time. A day in Regensburg was just the very fresh and fricken cold blast of air that was needed. Sometimes you only need to take a little trip up the road to enjoy a break from the norm.

Don’t miss:

• Lunch at the Historische Wurstkuche, the world’s oldest sausage kitchen. While these little beauts look a bit small, what they lack in size they definitely make up for in va-va-voom flavour. The restaurant makes its own sweet mustard too and it goes really well with the pencil sausages. The Wurstkuche is situated right on the banks of the Danube River near the Stone Bridge, but it also has an inside area for those cold German days. How lovely! Unless you’re a veggie, which I was when I first came to Bavaria. Kind of given it up now.

• Having a sweet at Germany’s oldest chocolatiers, Prinzess Cafe. Praline heaven. 

• A stroll across the Stone Bridge, which was built between 1135 and 1146. Great spot to enjoy views over Regensburg.

• A beer at Spitalgarten, one of the oldest hospital breweries in Bavaria. Sit outside in the biergarten under the trees, right on the river. 

• The Dom, Regensburg’s awesome Cathedral. Now I don’t usually go all gooey for churches and all things holy, but this place has to be seen. It’s huge. It has magnificent stained glass windows. And it feels very eerie inside.

Do you live somewhere with a completely contrasting area just up the road? Or do you have any experiences of Regensburg to share? Make my day and leave a comment! And here are some more pictures of Regensburg.

The Danube

Some old palace

Down a Regensburg backstreet

Cheerful tables

Inside The Dom

Outside The Dom

Regensburg. It’s old!

Eerie looking pub

More bikes than people – must be Bavaria!

He’s behind you!

Inside the Wurstkuche. Nice!

The German in England

After enduring the German in-laws almost every weekend for months, it was time for my German other-half to stomach his British ones on a visit to England. Payback time! Yeah! To make it worse for Markus, where I come from in England is the complete opposite of where he grew up in Bavaria. 
He is from a large rural village populated by clean-living, middle-class folk, situated on a beautiful lake with the Bavarian Alps as its backdrop.

I grew up near Southend-on-Sea in Essex, a large working-class town situated on the murky Thames Estuary, with the industrial works in Kent as its backdrop.

Photo credit: garyt70

As we neared Southend on Markus’ first visit, I explained that it was a bit of a “sh**hole.” “That is such a strong word!” he replied. ”How can somewhere be a sh**hole? That is like…..a hole……full of sh**!” One thing I love about having a relationship with a German is that they take every word you say so literally. Their language is extremely descriptive, which probably doesn’t help matters. (For example, gloves in German translates as hand shoes. Their word for bra translates as bosom holder. I think you get the picture).

I usually stay at my nan’s house when I visit England, as she is getting older, has a nice big house, and a fridge full of food. By Essex standards her abode is very posh. But by Bavarian standards it is a pokey old chaotic hovel full of lots of weird objects called ornaments. A startled horse rearing up on its back legs? Yes she has one of those – in green. A dog sadly staring out into the distance wondering what’s for tea tonight? Yes she has one of those too, in fine cream china. A tea pot in the shape of a man doing the splits? Yes of course! As Markus said on arrival: “It’s like a museum.”

Now we loved staying there and I love my nan’s house. But the German isn’t used to English houses, which usually come complete with – every German’s nightmare – CARPET. “We gave it up years ago in Germany!” Markus quipped. “It’s unhygienic.” And there was worse to come for my poor little German. CENTRAL HEATING. Germans are obsessed with fresh air. Even if it’s -10C outside the windows are open most of the day to ‘change the air’. Despite the cold and the lack of carpet, I have never found the heating on in a German house. Sod that. I’d rather be warm and confused. In addition to the heating on full blast and all of the windows closed, the fire in the lounge also comes on at my nan’s if the temperature outside dips below 20C. Markus almost died.

One morning,  the warmth, lack of fresh air and good old English dust clearly got to the German. I came downstairs to find the front door open, the back door open and all of the windows open. I could smell fresh air! Had my nan been kidnapped? She was nowhere to be seen! I eventually found Markus. He was frantically hoovering the lounge, like a teenager on speed.  ”What have you done with my nan?” I  shouted, with visions of her being tied up and gagged in a corner somewhere. Turns out she had gone for a walk, and Markus had taken the opportunity to Germanise her home as much as he could. “The cleaner comes tomorrow, so there’s not much point,” I said.  ”Yes!” he replied, all wild-eyed, with sweat dripping down his brow. “And I will tell her where to clean!”

Over the next week I proudly showed Markus around my home-town, trying to make his experience there as British as possible. We had fish and chips. We had a traditional Sunday lunch in a quaint old British pub. We walked along Southend seafront, taking in the colourful beach huts, tacky arcades, and the litter, syringes and dog poo scattered on the beach. We shopped in the high street, which has been taken over by chains like Primark and pound shops and doesn’t appear to boast a single independent trader.

We strolled past the town’s many grey seventies-style office blocks, which now stand empty because of the recession (another British pastime that doesn’t seem to exist in Bavaria). We dodged a lot of fights on a great night out, and read about numerous burglaries in the local paper. By the end of the week I had forgotten about the beautiful, natural, safe Alpine haven that we live in in Germany and I was happy to be in Southend in Essex. It may be a craphole. But it is my home. My craphole full of treasued memories.

What’s more, my family managed to get through the week without cracking a Hitler joke. My pride was immense.

Alas, the time came to leave England and to head back to squeaky clean Germany. Boo!

“So,” I said to Markus, with that glimmer of home-town pride still on my happy little face. “What did you think of Southend?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sorry look. “It’s a sh**hole.”

For once we agree on something.

We’re off to England!

After almost six months of continuous Bavarian winteriness (never again), we are taking a break in England. I have never been so happy and excited to return to my crappy homeland. Because a break from Germany means no more heavy snow! No more resorting to miming actions when I fail at the awful German language! No more being expected to eat a whole cake when we just want to visit someone! No more explaining to people that ‘that was just a joke’! No more naked people at the local swimming pool! No more being considered a hooker when I dare to wear heels! No more ‘it’s Sunday, what the hell are we going to do today – everything’s shut?’ And, no more…..Germans!

Living in Germany has really made me appreciate my own country in ways no one or nothing else ever has. As an Expat it’s the little things you miss about home. I am most looking forward to having a cuppa with my nan, laughing at my dad’s constant sarcasm, having a good bitch with my girlfriends, being crude without offending anyone, and buying a ridiculously huge British newspaper on a Sunday without paying the international price tag. Then of course there are the gorgeous British pubs, cheddar cheese, fish and chips, Cadbury Creme Eggs, (yes, this is as good as British food gets) and the way everyone is so so grateful when the sun comes out. I wonder what other Expats miss most about their own countries?

I am fortunate that home is just a 100 Euro, one-hour plane journey away. Popping back for a week here and there is not that hard. And despite my extreme happiness you know I will be glad to be back after all that constant tea, rain and those bloody miserable Poms. Until then, Auf Wiedersehen!

Life’s Simple Travellers: The Storks of Bavaria

Not much happens in the little Bavarian village I live in called Raisting.  Well, the library at the local school opens on Monday and Thursday evenings. And the Doner Kebab man comes and parks his little van here on Thursdays too. So I would say that Thursday is definitely the busiest day in Raisting (population about 12). But what little Raisting lacks in people power it definitely makes up for in terms of animals.

When I take my baby son for a walk around the village the monotony of pounding the same streets time and time again (there aren’t many of them you see) is broken up by the various animals we see. There are the horses, the black fluffy ‘moo’ cows, regular black and white ‘moo’ cows, chickens and lots of different types of birds that little Max loves to see and watch me try to impersonate. Back in my hometown in Essex in England we really don’t have much wildlife (apart from the drunk animals you get on Southend High Street every night) so this is all a novelty for us.

My favourite Raisting wildlife however has to be the storks, who return year after year to this little part of Bavaria to their nests. The White Storks are believed to be as faithful to their nests as they are to their mates, hence their return to the same spot here each spring. In Raisting we have a number of purpose-built platforms on the top of high poles that the birds use to build their nests, and it’s great to see so many of these long-legged creatures rambling wild around the village in the summer. I once cycled through a field and noticed a good 30 of them just hanging out, catching mice or whatever it is storks do in fields. Typically I didn’t have my camera on me but I’ll always treasure the memory. There’s something really special about seeing an animal in the wild, and not cooped up in some crappy ‘wild’ life centre.

The birds also melt my heart as they remind me of when my son was born on April 2 2012. As I waited for his birth the storks had arrived in the village and were flying high above as I waddled around with my huge bump hanging out of my leggings. Of course, the legend goes that storks bring babies, and I thought it was too cute that I was waiting for mine just as they arrived here in Europe all the way from Africa.

Storks are strong in German folklore, with their nests believed to bring good luck and protection against fires. You will also see many wooden stork decorations in front gardens to announce that a child has been born to the family that lives there. When I arrived here all fat and pregnant I thought this was the best tradition ever. In Essex this cutesy stuff just doesn’t happen. Mainly because people aren’t that thoughtful, and also because the storks would be stolen or urinated on if left outside at night.

A wooden stork in Raisting

Anyway, when I realised that other women were returning home from hospital with their babies to these wonderful giant wooden birds in their garden, I decided I had to have one too. Forget the baby. I WANTED A STORK. And most men should know that it always pays to listen to the really hormonal, emotional woman who has just given birth and won’t let them forget that they did so for the rest of their lives. I made it clear to Markus that his life wouldn’t be worth living if I came home and there was NO stork. If I was going to squeeze his baby out of my vagina, I WANTED A STORK. And crap loads of chocolate.

Despite my extreme subtlety, he got the message. And this is what greeted little Max and I, Mariah Carey, when we first arrived home.

The stork was hand-crafted and painted by our friends (Bavarians are really good at making things). It’s holding an Australian flag as its sack because Max was conceived there (in the country, not in the sack). It’s by far one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I’m tearing up now just thinking about it, but that’s because I’m a mum and we cry at everything, including things like manky-looking pigeons that can’t walk properly.

The storks are yet to return this year, although two did stay in Raisting this winter, according to the local newspaper (yes, this does make headlines here). I saw one of them poking around someone’s garden in the snow last week. These travellers migrate to Africa from central and eastern Europe, but have to go all the way via Turkey and Egypt to the east or Gibraltar in the west because the air thermals they depend on don’t form over water. They must bloody hate the Med. But then at least they don’t have to fly over Malta, as the Maltese like to shoot birds for fun, and then they would be dead. And that would be a terrible blow to little Raisting (pun intended).

Many people who are keen travellers often find it hard to stay in one place for too long. As another travel blogger said to me recently, life can seem to be a tug of war between nesting and nomadic. Therefore I salute you, oh pretty storks. You seem to have the perfect mix in life. Nesting in Europe for the summer, then buggering off before it gets too cold for a fantastic journey south into Africa.

Without the barriers in life that hold us humans back, they make it look so simple.

Inside the Nude German Sauna

Photo credit: Wikipedia

The terror begins as soon as you step into the changing room. This one is tiny, with a row of narrow lockers either side and shoes neatly stored underneath. From the number of shoes (all sensible flat boots – this is Germany) I calculate there must be a good 20 people using the sauna inside. No one is in the changing room, which brings a mixture of relief and panic. Relief because I can get undressed in private before working up the courage to join the other crazy nude people, and panic because I do not know the etiquette in German saunas and I could do with someone to copy. Do I just waltz in, naked? Bare boobs and all? Or should I go in my bikini first? Shall I hold my towel, wrap it around me, or drape it over my shoulder cheesy 80s style? I clearly didn’t think this through.

In a desperate search for answers, I peer through the window of the door to the sauna area. I see people! In dressing gowns! And sturdy flip flops!  Oh Scheisse. I didn’t bring either. I always manage to make a British fool out of myself in these German situations. I should have known about the ‘sauna shoes’. Germans are obsessed with wearing shoes inside, as I have learnt from their strict ‘house shoes’ policy. So trust the Germans to still be wearing shoes in the one place where all other clothes are forbidden. To the left I see a group of naked, middle-aged men and women having what looks like a good old natter over each others’ bits and bobs. “This is just too weird” I think, wondering if it’s not too late to chicken out. But I had come too far to do that. Plus I wanted to write about it on my blog.

I strip down to my bikini and wrap my towel firmly around me. If I’m going to get naked with the Germans then I will have to do it slowly.  I hold my head up high (as high as you can at 5ft 2ins) and open the door to the sauna area.

The group of naked natterers turn to stare at me. “Gruss Gott!” they all say in harmony. That’s a typical Bavarian greeting that means “greetings from God”  ”Hallo!” I say back, trying not to sound nervous – or even worse – foreign. Then their eyes turn to my bare feet. Their smiles turn to looks of horror. Bare feet! Inside! Now they definitely know I’m not one of them.

I spot a toilet cubicle and make a dash for it. Finally somewhere I can have some privacy. I lock the door behind me and giggle uncontrollably like a schoolgirl. Quietly of course otherwise I could get into trouble. I don’t think Germans appreciate foreigners laughing at their naked sauna antics. I decide I have to get my immature giggles out before I open the door again, so I spend a few minutes whisper laughing while removing my bikini. Towel on, bikini in hand, I compose myself, open the door, and face the naked natterers again. Most of the women natterers are covering their modesty with dressing gowns now. But the men are definitely less shy. I try not to stare or even look in their direction, instead focussing my sight on some pigeon holes where I can leave my now very redundant bikini.

Now. Where to go next. I can feel the naked natterers’ eyes on me, so there’s no time to hesitate and look foreign. There are taps and sinks everywhere. I don’t know what for. Then I finally spot a door with ‘Sauna 1′ written on it. Some instructions I can understand! I’m going in.

There are two older men inside. Maybe in their fifties. Both naked of course. I keep my head down and find a spot in the sauna as far away from them as possible. I take a deep breath, remove my towel (eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!) which means I am now naked! In front of strangers! I pretend to be super cool about this and lay my towel down to sit on. From the corner of my eye I can tell one of the men is sitting with his legs apart, letting it all show. The other is on his back. I intend to do neither, and find a sitting position that reveals as least of my naked self as possible. Thankfully I was a contortionist in a previous life.

After ten very long minutes of heat, sweat, palpitations and trying to avoid eye contact with the naked men, I decide my first session is over. Now it’s time to shower. But first I have to get up, grab my towel, wrap it around me and leave. It’s impossible to do this without the two men seeing me naked again. Crap. Moving will also bring attention to myself, so there’s no way I can do this in secret. Maybe they aren’t looking anyway, I tell myself. It’s too hot to stay. I have to leave before I faint while naked and that would be really embarrassing. I get up, grab my towel and attempt to wrap it around myself while hastily leaving the sauna. But major fail. Somehow my towel has folded itself in two, and there isn’t enough material to cover my bits. I end up leaving the room engulfed in a battle with my towel and most definitely naked. How horrifying (for a Brit).

Now, if I thought that bit of the naked German sauna was scary, this part was going to be even worse. The showers. I find them in a large circular room, with no doors, dividers, screens…just the showers. How cosy. The room with no boundaries reminds me of scenes in films where men get raped in prison. Plus I have to leave my towel outside unless I want it to get completely soaked. No hiding this time. This is where people will actually see me properly naked. And wet. A man and woman are using the showers, so again, I find a spot as far away from them as possible, and shower fast, as if I’m paying 20 Euro per drip.

I then find a plastic garden chair to sit on outside the sauna room (not far from the naked natterers, who are still naked and nattering, very quietly of course) where I can close my eyes and try and relax. Because that’s what you come to a sauna for isn’t it? To relax. I was far from relaxed. Us Brits are only used to being naked in front of others for sexual reasons, medical reasons, and for accidental reasons (window cleaners). So being naked in front of complete strangers for none of those reasons, plus being scared of doing something wrong and being shouted at in German, which I don’t understand well, was not a very relaxing experience. “Just go with it,” is some of the advice people have given on using the naked German sauna. Maybe I’m just a pathetic weakling. Sorry, but it’s just the way most of us are brought up in Britain. To be pathetic and weak.

As I contemplate this, a man aged about 70 wearing trunks comes waddling over to a set of scales positioned about three feet away from me. He stands on the scales and drops his Speedos in front of everyone. His hairy, wrinkly little bum thrusts itself in my direction. But as we’re in the naked German sauna, this is completely normal behaviour. I have no place to be offended. To my right there’s a door to an area outside. Despite the snow, there’s a naked man out there too, pacing around, cooling down after his sauna. I’m not sure I can get used to this. How strange would it be if you bumped into your old teacher in one of these things?

After using the sauna and rape shower again, I find a little room where about 10 people are lounging on deck chairs in various states of undress. Most are mature women reading magazines. Yes, sorry guys, no Heidi Klum lookalikes in the naked German sauna. Maybe this is why my Bavarian other-half never goes. It’s eerily quiet, like a library. Except ever so not like a library. I have a little sit down but the other women seem to be giving me weird ‘up and down’ looks as if I have broken some part of the naked dress code. I feel awkward and decide it’s time to leave.

If you’ve read this blog before you may be aware that I once stumbled into a nude German sauna by accident. However, I kept my bikini firmly on, much to the disgust of the other guests. I knew that if I wanted to go for a sauna in Germany again, I’d have to get my kit off. I was pleased that I had finally given it a go. But I don’t think I’ll be doing it again. I like to relax in the sauna, and this experience was far from relaxing. The facilities here are great – far superior to what we have back home. But I think I’ll wait until I visit England where it is acceptable to keep your swimwear on and the awkward silences are broken up with pointless conversations about the weather. Plus I won’t have to worry about offending anyone with my towel. Danke!

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Great Bavarian Get-Away: Seefeld, Austria

One thing I really love about the Germans is the way they embrace their excruciatingly long, dark, and freezing cold winter. If it’s -15C outside you won’t find these lot panic buying at supermarkets or sat at home cuddling a water bottle. They will be out burning calories faster than Usain Bolt by going cross-country skiing, ice-skating on frozen lakes or hiking with those silly poles they even use on concrete. It seems most people in Bavaria own some kind of winter sports equipment, be it a snowboard, skis, ice-skates and half-a-dozen sledges (or sometimes all of those). In England only rich people have skis and snowboards, so I’m forever impressed when I see the contents of a Bavarian’s garage. In Bavaria there are plenty of places to ski and snowboard in winter, such as Garmisch-Partenkirchen and Mittenwald. But as Bavaria borders Austria many Germans bypass their own country’s resorts and head deeper into the Alps for even better conditions. Petrol is also cheaper in Austria, which is why the pumps close to the German/Austrian border are usually full of satisfied German drivers filling up their tanks. And it takes a lot to satisfy a German, particularly one that’s driving!

Last weekend some friends and I drove across the border into Austria – a 90 minute trip from our home near The Ammersee. As with most European border crossings the only way we could tell we had entered another country was a ‘Welcome to Austria’ sign and our mobiles frantically bleeping with text messages telling us it would now cost an arm and a leg to answer our own phones.

The drive was spectacular. The snowy German Alps were shrouded in an eerie light morning mist, which gradually lifted to reveal their full grandeur. Then as the road snaked higher into the range we were engulfed by a heavy snow storm, turning our surroundings into a wonderful winter wonderland. Pine trees stood tall sprinkled with white, while cute little log cabins with thick snowy roofs poked out from the blanketed countryside. Just lovely.

We ploughed through the blizzard to the Winter Olympic resort of Seefeld, a pretty postcard ski village just a few minutes drive over the border into Austria. As you can tell from the photographs, it’s a gorgeous little place.

To cater for the huge number of Germans who ‘drive and ski’ the resort has a multi-story car park with escalators to take you right to the bottom of the slopes. Everyone changes in their car or on the car park floor on arrival before purchasing their lift passes by the runs. So efficient, the system must have been designed by a German! There are also 25 ski lifts, 28 km of ski runs, and facilities for night-skiing.

Being a Sunday the resort was pretty busy and heaving with kids. Most of these children were extremely competent German skiers and snowboarders who annoyingly whizzed past me as I fell on the same part of my right butt cheek again and again and again (it’s been a while since I last snowboarded.) Ten days on and the huge purple bruise to my bottom – and ego – is still there. Still, the view from the top of the easiest run I could find was breath-taking. Between painful snowboarding sessions I sat on the snow, took in the scenery, and breathed in that beautiful fresh alpine air.

After some hearty food in a wooden Apres-Ski restaurant complete with smokers and pumping Austrian dance music, we dragged our sore bodies into the heart of Seefeld. The picturesque village boasts plenty of hotels (all proudly advertising their saunas), cute cafes, and souvenir shops bursting with cuckoo clocks.

We only had a day here but if you stayed for longer there would be plenty of fun to be had. The area is a popular destination for cross-country skiers, sledgers, climbers and hikers. There’s even a ‘Strudelfest’ on this July! I can’t wait to return and see more of Austria. Just remember to do as the Germans do, and stock up on petrol if you’re coming back this way.

For further information, visit http://www.seefeld.com