Deep South Austria

Having a one-year-old has somewhat curtailed my travels. I am no longer free to set off on a whim and roam as I once was. But ironically, that constraint has led me to places I never would otherwise have ventured.

With an exceptionally cold and snowy January, our locale has been transformed into a gloriously wunderschön winter-scape. With a couple of months of paternity leave to pass and a klima ticket in my pocket (an annual pass that enables unlimited travel by rail (or bus) across Austria) I decided to embark on a series of local train journeys, every day heading one stop deeper up the Gail valley.

Nötsch

It would be my son’s first ever train ride. Uncertain of how he would take to it, we would begin our adventures cautiously, heading just 15 minutes up the line to begin with.

As we waited on the platform of our tiny village station, I was startled by a loud clacking sound. Two goats, penned up on the far side of the track, were butting heads.

The train arrived and we boarded, entering the kinder carriage, where there’s space for prams. The doors slid shut and electric loco glided off almost silently. I have already praised the excellence of Austrian trains; we are fortunate to have a station in our village and I ride the rails often.

Just minutes later, we pulled into the town of Arnoldstein. Here the tracks fanned out into a wide yard. Long wagons loaded with tree trunks, double-decker carriages carrying new cars, and graffiti-scrawled containers brimming with scrap metal, all awaited onboard transport.

After picking up a couple more passengers, the train moved off. Ten minutes later, we arrived at the village of Nötsch, its guardhouse bearing its name in hand-painted signage; the peak of Dobratsch mountain towering above.

With no plan, I disembarked and begun to wander. Nötsch was a collection of attractive cottages, guest houses and frozen gardens. I passed a house with Banksy’s ‘Girl with a Ballon’ stencilled upon its wall. Original or faithful replica? I doubt Banksy has visited the Gail valley but Nötsch has had celebrity visitors in the past, as I would learn from a fellow passenger later that week.

In 1937, the English King, Edward VIII (who abdicated to marry the American Wallis Simpson), spent 3 months honeymooning at Nötsch’s Schloss Wasserleonburg.

I struck out along the Gail River. It was still ten below (-10°c) and at the river’s margins, solid ice had formed. Every rush, twig and spruce needle was accented by frost. I have long had designs to kayak down the Gail; I will wait for warmer conditions to do so.

After wandering a while, I was keen to ensure my son – well-wrapped though he was – had not frozen solid. I made an about turn, heading back to the village and towards the Jost Inn which boasted daily opening and pizza.

Stepping into its cosy warmth, I took a seat by the cuboidal Kachelöfen, a large, tiled stove. Renowned for their efficiency, they can heat a whole room on a single load of logs. Kachelöfen remain popular in the Austrian home, though being custom built, are exceedingly expensive.

Two tables were occupied by old folk playing cards, already on the beer. I took a seat by the stove. Jost had just the cosy feel you want of a rural restaurant: low ceilings, corner benches and booths, plus the pop and crackle of the fire, only just audible through its thick walls.

We missed our return train – the extra pizza I ordered to take with me, arrived two minutes too late – but that provided opportunity to wander further. I came upon a frozen flugplatz (an airfield for light aircraft and gliders), the snow-covered ‘Dobratsch Arena’, and a large horse-riding centre.

Catching the next train back – an hour later than planned – I deemed our first Mini-train adventure a success. We would continue our explorations the following day.

Emmersdorf

Emmersdorf was little more than a station and a clutch of houses. But I located the R3 radweg – a 90km cycle route that runs all the way down the Gail valley – and began pushing the pram over the crunchy snow. In summer, the path is so popular you can get stuck in a bike jam. Today, with the weg under snow, my son and I were the only travellers.

The frozen fields of the Gail valley spread out before me. I crossed a stream that ran into a beautifully clear pool, thinking I was on the right path. I followed it past a row of bee hives that looked down to a field where a cow and her calf stood in the snow. As I approached a farmstead, two large dogs flew at me, barking aggressively and alerting the grizzled farmer who appeared from a barn.

“Is this the bike path?” I asked, in unpolished but functional German.

“No! Where did you come from?”

“The station,” I told him.

“Go back that way. You will see the signs.”

I beat a retreat from his snarling hounds, retracing my steps, and sure enough found the right route. The path led towards the Gail river, hidden by a steep embankment. The flat farmland, edged by mountain ridges, took me back to my days in rural Japan, where I’d spent many delightful times wandering with the school dog through snow-covered rice paddies.

St Stefan-Vorderberg, Görtschach Förolach, Presseger See and Vellach

Over the following week, my father and son team pushed one stop further up the line each day. St Stefan-Vorderberg was pretty with its dome-topped church and stone barns with wooden balconies. Horses in the snowbound fields were nosing crystals away to reach the grass below.

In Görtschach Förolach, I found just a scattering of houses and a sawmill. Pressenger See was a frozen rush-filled moorland, fringed by mountains. Vellach had three very cosy-looking inns; all were closed.  

I saw almost no others on my walks. I expect the residents were bundled up inside, avoiding the exceptionally cold temperatures.

The end of the line: Hermagor

Hermagor was the last and largest settlement on our tour. It has a handful of cobbled streets and oozed old-town allure; converted mill houses and guesthouses; a shoe shop, bookshop and kebab shop; and pensions, including one with a fetching portrait of Franz Joseph – the former Emperor of Austria.

The town had life, but I noted a number of empty shops too, with zu mieten (for rent) posters in their windows.

Three years prior, I had spent two nights in Hermagor, using it as a base for the nearby ski resort of Nassfeld. We’d stumbled upon a cosy bar and enjoyed a pleasant evening sitting on high stools under a low ceiling.

“This is my last few days of business,” the owner had told us. “I’m closing next week.”

Three years on, I relocated the venue and peered through its – now dirty – window. The bar stools still stood, but posters plastered over the door betrayed the fact that it was not under new management.

On the way back to Hermagor station, I passed a girl carrying a snowboard under her arm. Then I watched kids disembark the train that had just arrived, dressed in full ski gear, including boots, helmets and googles, presumably off to Nassfeld for a few runs. Just a normal winter’s day in the Gail Valley. I stepped aboard, admiring plumes of steam rising from a lumberyard’s chimneys.

Connecting Generations by Rail

There’s a pleasing family connection to these excursions; my wife’s grandfather spent his life working for ÖBB, Austria’s national rail operator. I’m sure he’d be warmed to know his great-grandson has been riding the very rails he worked on.

With a young child in tow, I may not be able to walk far, or jump on my bike right now, but I can still go exploring. With Hermagor, I had reached the end of the line, but our mini-adventures mit zug will continue: there are many more rails to ride.