There Is Always a Bench in Austria

A few days earlier, we'd arrived in Salzburg to spend some time exploring before beginning our Austrian Lakes hike.

Salzburg was a gem. Castles, towers, beautiful gardens, the town square—it was almost impossibly idyllic.

We were also on a mission: find the best apple strudel.

There would be several contenders over the next week.

For our final day in Salzburg, we did something unapologetically touristy. We booked the Sound of Music tour.

It felt almost mandatory.

We've all seen the movie. We all know the songs. And who doesn't want to imagine themselves running through wildflowers on an Austrian mountainside?

We boarded the bus completely unprepared for the level of Sound of Music enthusiasm that would follow for the next four hours.

We visited the gazebo, the tree-lined street, the back of the villa and the lake. And between stops, a bus full of devoted fans enthusiastically sang their way through the soundtrack.

Doe, a deer, a female deer…

Apparently, Austrians themselves don't share quite the same obsession with the movie that visitors do. But they certainly understand its tourism value.

Back at the hotel, we packed for the next morning.

But not before one final Salzburg strudel taste test.

The next morning, we left Salzburg for the 90-minute bus ride to Abersee, a small village on the western side of Wolfgangsee in Austria's Salzkammergut region.

The ride itself was beautiful—small towns, countryside, rolling green hills.

Yes, the hills really were alive.

Our hotel looked like something from a movie set: Alpine architecture with flower boxes overflowing with geraniums. Geraniums were my grandmother's favorite flowers and always surrounded the outside of her home.

It made me smile.

There wasn't much happening in Abersee, which was perfect. We called it an early night and prepared our packs for the first real day of hiking.

After a beautiful European breakfast the next morning, we walked to the pier to catch a small boat across Wolfgangsee.

It was early. The lake was completely still.

At the dock office, there was no one around—just a sign in the window:

RING BELL FOR SERVICE.

So we did.

A few moments later, our "ship captain" emerged from the house next door looking as though we'd practically gotten him out of bed.

He took us across the water, and just like that, our hike had begun.

We walked through town and climbed toward the Falkenstein Wall, where the panoramic views over the lake were breathtaking.

We also discovered two things about hiking in Austria.

First, the trails are wonderfully marked. The Austrian flag markers reassured us we were heading in the right direction.

Second, there is always a bench.

Need a rest? There's a bench.

Want to admire the view? There's a bench.

Just feel like stopping for absolutely no reason?

There's probably a bench.

From the high point of the trail, we admired the almost impossibly bold color of the lake below before descending toward St. Gilgen.

We wandered through the village, happened upon a wedding at a little chapel and, naturally, found another strudel to add to our research.

Eventually, we boarded the boat and crossed the lake back to our hotel.

The next morning brought rain, with clearing expected later in the day.

Our luggage was being transported to our next hotel, so we filled our daypacks with food from the little market in town and once again took the boat across the water.

The forested trail toward Schwarzensee felt magical. We passed through tiny villages, walked alongside local cows and continued to marvel at something we hadn't expected to find quite so impressive:

Austrians are exceptionally good at stacking wood.

Eventually, in the middle of nowhere, we came upon a little place at the lake called Madame Lore's Cafe.

There was strudel.

Obviously, we ordered it.

For the record, this is the strudel we still talk about.

We arrived in Bad Ischl early enough to drop our bags, change quickly and head back out to visit the Kaiservilla, Emperor Franz Joseph's summer residence.

The weather wasn't particularly good, which turned out to be a gift. The beautiful gardens felt almost as though we had them to ourselves.

The following day was officially designated a rest day.

Which brings us back to Mount Katrin.

And our inability to sit still.

After surviving our completely unnecessary bouldering adventure and returning safely to Bad Ischl, someone recommended a brew pub for dinner.

Perfect. A nice, relaxing end to our rest day.

Except the pub was up a mountain road on the other side of the river.

Of course it was.

The views were worth it.

But as rest days go, we'd done a spectacularly poor job.

Salt has shaped the Salzkammergut region for centuries, and our next day's route followed part of an old brine pipeline toward Bad Goisern.

We arrived so early that we realized we could catch a bus ahead of the one suggested in our guidebook.

Excellent.

We were very pleased with ourselves.

Until the bus turned right.

We were supposed to be going left.

Steve went up to the driver.

"You got on the wrong bus," he told us. "Get off at the next stop and wait for the bus coming the other way."

Nothing unnerving about that.

We stepped off in what felt like the middle of nowhere—and discovered a younger Canadian couple had made exactly the same mistake.

So there we were.

Four travelers standing beside the road, hoping another bus would eventually appear.

There wasn't much we could do about it. We talked. We had snacks. The weather was pleasant. Our phones still had battery.

And eventually, just as the driver had promised, another bus appeared.

Sometimes that's travel.

Arriving in Hallstatt was a show-stopping moment.

We came through the tunnel and suddenly there it was: the lake, mountains and village we'd seen in countless photographs.

And there were plenty of other people who wanted that photograph too.

Hallstatt was packed. Visitors searched for the perfect Instagram angle and posed for videos along the waterfront.

But the following morning was different.

We were out early, walking among the homes surrounding the lake before most visitors had arrived.

The water was crystal clear. Everything was peaceful.

This was the Hallstatt we wanted to remember.

We took the ferry across the lake to catch the train and began another long day of hiking, much of it through fields of wildflowers.

And somewhere along those nearly empty trails, something funny happened.

After spending four hours in Salzburg the previous week listening to a bus full of people sing The Sound of Music, Steve and I started doing exactly the same thing.

There we were, walking through Austrian wildflowers, singing our greatest hits.

Apparently, it had gotten to us.

Our route eventually brought us back toward Hallstatt, where we visited the salt mine.

We could have taken the funicular up the mountain.

We walked.

Because apparently we still hadn't learned anything.

The mine took us through thousands of years of salt-mining history, complete with a mine train, miners' slides and an underground salt lake.

Tomorrow would be our final hiking day.

And we were already talking about coming back.

Our final day would be the most strenuous—about 12 miles of hiking before eventually bringing us back toward where the trip had begun.

But by then, we'd figured something out.

This wasn't a race.

We had time to enjoy the trail. Time to wander. Time to stop when we needed to.

And remember: there is always a bench in Austria.

We walked through rolling hills, past Alpine homes, beautiful flowers and, of course, more cows.

Passing through one small village, we spotted a roadside fruit stand run by a local gentleman.

We were ready for a snack.

Steve had been trying to use bits of German throughout our trip. He pulled out some euros, surveyed the fruit and approached the man.

In his best German, Steve essentially explained that his German wasn't very good and asked if the man spoke English.

The response was immediate.

"Of course I speak English. And your German sucks."

We all burst out laughing.

We bought some stone fruit and found—you guessed it—a bench.

I've often referred to Steve as my "Mensch on a Bench," and after a week of hiking through Austria, the name had never seemed more appropriate.

We sat there eating our fruit, laughing about his German and looking out at another ridiculously beautiful Austrian landscape.

Then we got up and kept walking.

By the time we reached the Abersee peninsula, we could once again look across the water toward St. Wolfgang and our hotel.

Twelve miles.

Our feet were tired, but there was also that wonderful feeling you get at the end of a journey when you realize you're not quite ready for it to be over.

This had been our first self-guided hiking trip. Before we'd even finished, we knew we wanted to do another.

Because somewhere along those trails, we'd learned there was nowhere we needed to get particularly fast.

Turn around when the trail isn't right.

Take the wrong bus and figure it out.

Talk to the people you meet while you're waiting.

Stop for the fruit stand.

Eat the strudel.

Sing The Sound of Music badly while walking through the wildflowers.

And when you need a moment, sit down.

There is always a bench in Austria.