I arrived in Gruenau im Almtal after four nights in Salzburg, not knowing what to expect. Having not had great internet access in Salzburg, I had shot an email to Mama around 10:20 a.m. Salzburg time (so about 3:00 a.m. Alabama time) saying that I was trying to find someplace to go and if she was up, maybe she could explain to me how to use Priceline. Well, Mama amazingly was awake! She shot me an email right back and began to research a place for me to stay and adventure in Austria. She came up with this little town, Gruenau im Almtal, where there was a hostel – The TreeHouse Hostel – that had great reviews. They offered outdoor activities such as hiking, skiing, and horseback riding. Like many hostels, they had a bar, but this bar just happened to be the hot spot for social activity in Gruenau!
Dinner, served homemade and fresh at 7:00, was the highlight of my arrival. As I sat reading Anne of Green Gables, I was approached by a dinner companion. Steve shared my meal with me, and we talked of everywhere he’d been, places we’d seen, his job, and my plans for my life. He was one of the most interesting people! In fact, he was a screenwriter in Hollywood – and not a down-on-his-luck writer either. No! Little did I know, I was sitting with the writer of Star Trek! Steve is quite the traveling enthusiast, and has spent quite a few winters in Gruenau at the TreeHouse. He also had just moved on from a journey in France for four years – I couldn’t have had a more interesting beginning to my stay!
My first morning at the TreeHouse, I met an Australian couple (Hannah and Andrew) and three Australian girls (Dom, Nel, and Jo), who were all up for a couple days of skiing in the Alps. Planning on a couple days of skiing myself, I joined up with them. We made it to the top of the mountain and were totally in awe of the view! Lovely snow-topped peaks surrounded us. Trees, bejeweled with crystal dangles, lined the slopes. Snow, white and smooth like poured fondant, graced the hillside. The sun shined bright in the cerulean sky. We spent the day getting our ski-legs back. Jo and Dom had never skied before, so we had a ball teaching them the ropes. Jo, full of natural talent, went to the top with Nel and me, and had quite the time skiing down the intermediate slope. It was definitely a stretch for one’s first day skiing! Sitting in the snow, a tangle of skis and poles, she cried out, “Smite me Almighty Smiter!!!!” What a laugh!
Unfortunately, taking Jo down the mountain was not Nel’s and my most daring adventure. As everyone else went in for the day, Nel and I decided to take another run down the smaller slope (known as “The Runway”). Nel, a fearless fast skier, sped down the course. Going too fast for comfort, I made a turn to stop myself, but ran straight into one of the big marshmallow mountains of snow! Stuck, and quite unable to get my skis off, I called Nel. “Ohhhh, Nelly!” Her tracks were quite funny, and she came to rescue me. The outline of a body in the mountain, and the ski-less tracks of the rescuer coming to the rescue! As we made our way back to the gondola for the ride down, no one was there! Two men on a snow ski machine (you know – the ones like Jet Skis!) came by and laughed, saying, “Sorry! They’ve all gone home!” Unable to convince them to give us a ride to the top gondola, we braved it out, saying that we’d just ski down, “no problem!”
No problem, my foot. As we reached the trail down, we could see straight down; the slope was like a cliff’s edge. I pulled out my cell phone and called the hostel, hoping upon hope they’d send someone to rescue us. “You’re stuck on the mountain, are ya?” said Nathan, our Australian barman at the TreeHouse, “Oh, you’ll just hafta snow-plow down.” Hanging up the phone, I felt the beginnings of tears rolling down my face. “He says that we’ll just have to snow-plow down,” I repeated to Nel. You can’t imagine the fear and incredulity marked upon our faces as we looked down. We cried out for those yet audible snow Jet Ski men, to no avail. And yet here came a solo ski instructor, Franz, to our rescue. I had sucked it up, taken my skis off, and was prepared to walk my tired and sore body down the three-mile stretch to the bottom of the mountain. But no, Franz would not hear of it. He had me side-slide down the first drop, babying me the entire way. Taking my poles, he had me hold onto the edges and slide with him. When I looked down the next slope, it was no better than the first, worse, in fact! He must have seen the futility and fear lurking in my eyes, for he carried all a million pounds of me on his back (my skis and poles in his hands and him on skis himself) halfway down the slope.
You may ask where Nel is at this point – well, my brave Nel was making it all on her own, quickly down this difficult terrain. My body was plum tuckered out, and my mindset shot. I hoped poor Franz could not hear my sniffles as tears ran down my cheeks – I had my arms tight around him, and held on for dear life. You cannot imagine skiing down a cliff-like slope on another skiier’s back. It is absolute trust. When I made it to the next slope, (we had done a little more side slipping) He took me in front of him, like the two and three-year-old children you see learning on the slopes, and wrapped his arms around me, guiding me bodily down this slope.
As we hit a turn, we couldn’t stop and ran smack dab into the bright orange plastic fencing that went round the curve. Getting off of him, I did make my way down this little bit on my own, until the next bend when another steep drop came upon us. Once again, he took me upon his back, (poor Franz, I could hear his heavy breathing) this time leaving my skis on to shoot out like two more arms as I held onto his neck. We made it once again to the end of the slope, and he was guiding me, side-stepping down the next when somehow, I was let loose. Careening down the slope, skis overhead in a tangle, I made it halfway down the hillside. As I pulled my poor limbs up, I tried to convince Franz that “wouldn’t it just be easier for me to slide the rest of the way on my bottom!?” All to no avail. We made it down that mountain with me on his back or strapped in front of him the entire rest of the way down the icy lower mountain.
When we reached the bottom, I gave him a big hug, thanking him profusely for everything. What a savior! What a marvelously-strong ski instructor! I offered him a tip, but he wouldn’t take it. Nel and I then hiked the rest of the way down the road, skis and poles in hand to the TreeHouse. Dying to get out of those boots, I almost stacked it (the Aussie way of saying crashed) on the iced-over roadways leading to the hostel. Our crew, all laughs and sympathetic ears, awaited us with ice-cold Stiegl in hand. Man, we were beat! Dinner went down with gusto, and we girls ended the night watching The Departed with Steve, while the rest of the guys played Risk at the bar.
Tuesday brought another day of skiing. A sore, tired, exhausted day of skiing. Bruised shins accounted for much of the sitting, but Hannah and I were quite productive and made it down the blue slope mountain range three times! I only “stacked it” about once or twice – once right into the rocks lining a curve (and OH, did it hurt!). But it was an incredibly fun day, an amazing three nights, really, with people I don’t think I’ll ever forget!
As I sit on the train back to Italy, sore muscles and all, I am so happy with my stay. I had the most adventurous and fun two days. The TreeHouse was great – the staff amazing! Always full of friendly faces – if you could define “home away from home” with a place, this would be it! I can’t recommend a better-priced, more fun winter stay than The TreeHouse Hostel in Gruenau im Almtal, where they pick you up from the train station, carry your bags, serve your dinner, and become quite a part of your heart, whatever the length of your stay!
Dinner, served homemade and fresh at 7:00, was the highlight of my arrival. As I sat reading Anne of Green Gables, I was approached by a dinner companion. Steve shared my meal with me, and we talked of everywhere he’d been, places we’d seen, his job, and my plans for my life. He was one of the most interesting people! In fact, he was a screenwriter in Hollywood – and not a down-on-his-luck writer either. No! Little did I know, I was sitting with the writer of Star Trek! Steve is quite the traveling enthusiast, and has spent quite a few winters in Gruenau at the TreeHouse. He also had just moved on from a journey in France for four years – I couldn’t have had a more interesting beginning to my stay!
My first morning at the TreeHouse, I met an Australian couple (Hannah and Andrew) and three Australian girls (Dom, Nel, and Jo), who were all up for a couple days of skiing in the Alps. Planning on a couple days of skiing myself, I joined up with them. We made it to the top of the mountain and were totally in awe of the view! Lovely snow-topped peaks surrounded us. Trees, bejeweled with crystal dangles, lined the slopes. Snow, white and smooth like poured fondant, graced the hillside. The sun shined bright in the cerulean sky. We spent the day getting our ski-legs back. Jo and Dom had never skied before, so we had a ball teaching them the ropes. Jo, full of natural talent, went to the top with Nel and me, and had quite the time skiing down the intermediate slope. It was definitely a stretch for one’s first day skiing! Sitting in the snow, a tangle of skis and poles, she cried out, “Smite me Almighty Smiter!!!!” What a laugh!
Unfortunately, taking Jo down the mountain was not Nel’s and my most daring adventure. As everyone else went in for the day, Nel and I decided to take another run down the smaller slope (known as “The Runway”). Nel, a fearless fast skier, sped down the course. Going too fast for comfort, I made a turn to stop myself, but ran straight into one of the big marshmallow mountains of snow! Stuck, and quite unable to get my skis off, I called Nel. “Ohhhh, Nelly!” Her tracks were quite funny, and she came to rescue me. The outline of a body in the mountain, and the ski-less tracks of the rescuer coming to the rescue! As we made our way back to the gondola for the ride down, no one was there! Two men on a snow ski machine (you know – the ones like Jet Skis!) came by and laughed, saying, “Sorry! They’ve all gone home!” Unable to convince them to give us a ride to the top gondola, we braved it out, saying that we’d just ski down, “no problem!”
No problem, my foot. As we reached the trail down, we could see straight down; the slope was like a cliff’s edge. I pulled out my cell phone and called the hostel, hoping upon hope they’d send someone to rescue us. “You’re stuck on the mountain, are ya?” said Nathan, our Australian barman at the TreeHouse, “Oh, you’ll just hafta snow-plow down.” Hanging up the phone, I felt the beginnings of tears rolling down my face. “He says that we’ll just have to snow-plow down,” I repeated to Nel. You can’t imagine the fear and incredulity marked upon our faces as we looked down. We cried out for those yet audible snow Jet Ski men, to no avail. And yet here came a solo ski instructor, Franz, to our rescue. I had sucked it up, taken my skis off, and was prepared to walk my tired and sore body down the three-mile stretch to the bottom of the mountain. But no, Franz would not hear of it. He had me side-slide down the first drop, babying me the entire way. Taking my poles, he had me hold onto the edges and slide with him. When I looked down the next slope, it was no better than the first, worse, in fact! He must have seen the futility and fear lurking in my eyes, for he carried all a million pounds of me on his back (my skis and poles in his hands and him on skis himself) halfway down the slope.
You may ask where Nel is at this point – well, my brave Nel was making it all on her own, quickly down this difficult terrain. My body was plum tuckered out, and my mindset shot. I hoped poor Franz could not hear my sniffles as tears ran down my cheeks – I had my arms tight around him, and held on for dear life. You cannot imagine skiing down a cliff-like slope on another skiier’s back. It is absolute trust. When I made it to the next slope, (we had done a little more side slipping) He took me in front of him, like the two and three-year-old children you see learning on the slopes, and wrapped his arms around me, guiding me bodily down this slope.
As we hit a turn, we couldn’t stop and ran smack dab into the bright orange plastic fencing that went round the curve. Getting off of him, I did make my way down this little bit on my own, until the next bend when another steep drop came upon us. Once again, he took me upon his back, (poor Franz, I could hear his heavy breathing) this time leaving my skis on to shoot out like two more arms as I held onto his neck. We made it once again to the end of the slope, and he was guiding me, side-stepping down the next when somehow, I was let loose. Careening down the slope, skis overhead in a tangle, I made it halfway down the hillside. As I pulled my poor limbs up, I tried to convince Franz that “wouldn’t it just be easier for me to slide the rest of the way on my bottom!?” All to no avail. We made it down that mountain with me on his back or strapped in front of him the entire rest of the way down the icy lower mountain.
When we reached the bottom, I gave him a big hug, thanking him profusely for everything. What a savior! What a marvelously-strong ski instructor! I offered him a tip, but he wouldn’t take it. Nel and I then hiked the rest of the way down the road, skis and poles in hand to the TreeHouse. Dying to get out of those boots, I almost stacked it (the Aussie way of saying crashed) on the iced-over roadways leading to the hostel. Our crew, all laughs and sympathetic ears, awaited us with ice-cold Stiegl in hand. Man, we were beat! Dinner went down with gusto, and we girls ended the night watching The Departed with Steve, while the rest of the guys played Risk at the bar.
Tuesday brought another day of skiing. A sore, tired, exhausted day of skiing. Bruised shins accounted for much of the sitting, but Hannah and I were quite productive and made it down the blue slope mountain range three times! I only “stacked it” about once or twice – once right into the rocks lining a curve (and OH, did it hurt!). But it was an incredibly fun day, an amazing three nights, really, with people I don’t think I’ll ever forget!
As I sit on the train back to Italy, sore muscles and all, I am so happy with my stay. I had the most adventurous and fun two days. The TreeHouse was great – the staff amazing! Always full of friendly faces – if you could define “home away from home” with a place, this would be it! I can’t recommend a better-priced, more fun winter stay than The TreeHouse Hostel in Gruenau im Almtal, where they pick you up from the train station, carry your bags, serve your dinner, and become quite a part of your heart, whatever the length of your stay!
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