A route along UNESCO World Heritage Sites and a little "dolce far niente". That's how I imagined my holiday. But a Mercedes and consumer mania put a spanner in the works.
The alarm clock rings at 6.11am. I haven't got up this early for a long time. Not this cheerful either. Today I'm going on holiday for the first time in months. Travelling through the Alpine countries of Switzerland, Italy and Austria in a small Fiat 500, which turns out to be a Mercedes GL in the end. It's more comfortable for Flup, my travelling companion. I'm a little ashamed of myself.
Day 1 - A not-so-digital nomad
Day 2 - Flup and the e-bikers
Day 3 - Coglione
Today we'll finally get some culture. The Villa Rotonda - Palladian perfection - awaits us in Vicenza. Unfortunately, it is closed. Thanks to a bet I won, I can give Flup a guided tour of the old town instead. This is abruptly interrupted after the first few steps by a wildly flailing gentleman: I've left the boot open.
My life in a nutshell? On a quest to broaden my horizon. I love discovering and learning new skills and I see a chance to experience something new in everything – be it travelling, reading, cooking, movies or DIY.
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The two small North Face bags take up relatively little space in the seven-seater. But they take up quite a lot on the roads of Zurich. Travelling on country roads to Graubünden: Picking apples in Grüsch, a break in Davos. Flup has a short meeting with the boss - strictly speaking, today is still a working day. I treat myself to a tub of cappuccino and check a few emails. We have to get going. Slowed down by a Mercedes SL AMG, we creep through the steep Albula valley. Flup is bursting at the seams: "You stupid #v!xsp!" he shouts as he overtakes at 100 km/h.
Growling, Flup hears the essence of his employee briefing. The organisational structure is not yet in place, everything needs to be reworked. Meanwhile, I listen intently to my colleagues' ideas. Just as I'm about to launch into an all-round attack, the technology lets us down: no internet on the Albula Pass. Quickly through the Engadin, up the Bernina to the next call. My boss - I assume - is just about to give me a lift in front of everyone's ears, but the legendary 5G radiation doesn't reach the Bernina Pass either. Nevertheless, it's better to be the probably confirmed "Head of Content".
In Poschiavo, we eat venison surrounded by GA pensioners in the Velotenue. A short ride through Valtellina, over the Aprica Pass into Valcamonica. A detour leads us to cheap Lambrusco from the tap. Invigorated, we speed up the narrow lane to our agriturismo. An old man with a walking frame is only briefly startled before admiring the mighty vehicle. Once at the top, all the neglected employees are still waiting for me, which can only be done with a beer. There's venison again. An eventful day comes to an end to the sound of the rushing stream.
Four pieces of cake! That's what we mean by a balanced breakfast here. We experience the next highlight on the first pass of the day. The view is also good. Reiff on Lake Garda, on the other hand, drives all the good spirits out of Flup. He loses his temper. He reluctantly sits down with me at the far end of a restaurant. The food was good and we soon left this German exclave. Flup's loud grumbling about the Germanic e-bike tourists can't dampen my mood. I'm looking forward to Verona.
We squeeze the SUV into the underground car park. We cross the bridge over the Adige on foot and catch sight of the Castelvecchio. Flup gets lost in the cultural buzz, and we realise that we missed the world-famous rock paintings in Valcamonica because we were so busy buying wine. The suite seems appropriate: Frescoes on the ceilings, three rooms. I pop the cork from our spacious terrace at the market visitors in Piazza del Erbe. For dinner, we have Amarone in a glass and on a plate. The Unesco-labelled alleyways are not very impressive on the late evening walk home and we can't find any Wegbier. So it's off to the princely bedchamber.
As I explain to Flup the connection between Vicenza's economic prosperity and the Gothic wall openings, this culture vulture catches sight of a bar. The Acciughe rolls captivate him more than my inexhaustible knowledge. So I also indulge in the wine. Back at the car park, we count our first buses at the sight of a piece of paper under the windscreen wiper. But it lovingly reads: "Coglione, è per le auto elettriche!" Apparently there is hardly any danger of confusion between our petrol slinger and a nimble Tesla. In high spirits, we soon stop off at a supermarket: Flup urgently needs a beer.
In the midst of the lush vines, we move into our overnight accommodation in the Prince of Borgoluce's hunting lodge. Unfortunately, there is no dinner here, as we are told with a mischievous grin, as if it were not the first time. So we chug into the next village and treat ourselves to an Apérol Spritz in the fascist-looking square to calm our nerves. In the Prince of Borgoluce's bistro, Flup orders homemade take-away burgers for a large family, which we wash down with a bottle of Prosecco in our garden. Looking up at the stars, I tell Flup a bedtime story about the beautiful life on the planet Gazosa and its insanely social inhabitants, the clackers.
Today we hike - but not without Prosecco. After a calorie-rich breakfast consisting of all kinds of farm produce, we put on our Birkenstock sandals and set off. After the third bend, Flup wants to take a break, otherwise the sparkling wine would get warm. From a distance, we hear what we think is a shepherd yodelling. As we get closer, he turns out to be wearing a white jogging suit and listening to a Walkman. Intrigued by the sounds, Flup wanders off and talks to me for hours about Carnaval in Salvador de Bahia.
We wander through fields and forests and find ourselves at an antique market. While browsing through old postcards, Flup's gaze lingers too long on the plump breasts of a young Berber woman. I briefly lose my otherwise unshakeable composure. Only a bottle of wine and a hearty meal can fix that. Unfortunately, the kitchen of the nearby osteria is already closed. Only two appetisers are still available. As an apology, a few hot patatas are served. Energised, we walk around the walls of an old castle before returning to the osteria for a bottle of Prosecco to go. In the best Detlef D! Soost style, we choreograph our way home along the country lanes.
After around three hours - instead of the usual one and a half - we reach our hunting lodge, fuelled and hungry. As we all know, there's no dinner, but nobody can drive any more. We draw the only logical conclusion: we help ourselves to the prince's fridge. Because the key to the kitchen is in the fridge, we get our hands on some buffalo mozzarella, half a dozen cherry tomatoes and venison salami. Combined with our own mountain cheese and apples from Grüsch, an unexpected feast opens up on the wooden board. With full bellies and the knowledge that we have committed a peccadillo, we soon retire.
After an extensive breakfast, which is incredibly similar to last night's dinner, we finally get back in the car after a one-day break. After a few minutes, we make our first shopping stop. We buy cartons of Prosecco and wine in the Borgoluce shop. A garlic salami made from semi-wild pigs is the crowning glory of our shopping trip. A few kilometres further on, in Valdobbiadene, we stop for a cappuccino: but not without picking up two good bottles of Prosecco DOCG from Massimo in the local wine shop.
The impressive rocky reefs of the Dolomites prompt us to stop for a rest without any intention of consuming anything. The bus stop at Lake Carezza seems like a good place to park our car. After a few minutes of marvelling, we are urged to continue our journey. We are starting to get hungry anyway. In a wonderful mountain restaurant, we order pastry specialities at a flexible temperature of around 45 degrees in the sun and 15 degrees in the shade. After we have quickly emptied the shop, we are already sitting back in our beige leather seats.
Sterzing is our destination for today. In the small South Tyrolean town, we beat the average age, as we have done so often on this trip. We drop our bags in our hotel room and immediately set off into the vibrant village centre. We eat in the hotel restaurant, as it is the only place open until after eight o'clock. After a few quarters of white wine and half a litre of melted butter, we throw ourselves into the terrycloth bathrobes and perfectly coordinated slippers in our room and round off the evening with a game of football.
We haven't bought any olive oil yet, so unfortunately we have to stop off at the Spar supermarket. There are hardly any more producers in Austria. In a frenzy, Flup fills the shopping trolley with his staple food. When there is hardly any room left, we discover some cheap Lambrusco with expensive-looking labelling. We somehow manage to fit in 14 bottles. With considerably more weight on the rear axle, we head towards the Jaufen Pass - the most direct route is not our destination. But neither is the Jaufenpass, which is closed for tarmac work. We are only informed of this at the foot of the mountain, so we first head back and then over the Brenner Pass.
On arrival in Austria, the first refreshment break soon follows. I have to steer the giant vehicle right up to the entrance to see if the inn has a beer garden, as Flup shows no sign of wanting to use his legs. So I have to reverse into the car park. Not exactly my favourite discipline. At least Flup feels well entertained. We speed on through Tyrol on country roads, quickly passing the coronavirus hotspot of Ischgl, until we reach the Silvretta High Alpine Road. Surprisingly, we have to pay 16.50 euros there. Flup can hardly get his head round it, feels ripped off, doesn't understand the Austrian model consisting of an expensive vignette and toll. The beautiful view can't fix it. Only when collecting blueberries at the side of the road does he feel something like a sense of justice and relaxation, which is lost again a few minutes later. A man from Dortmund seems to be driving through the Alps for the first time and spoils Flup's fun on the bends.
A good half hour later, we are sitting in my parents' holiday flat in Schruns. Sipping Lambrusco, we're enjoying the view from the balcony when my sister arrives with her. We have arranged to meet for dinner at the Seppl Stoba. The food tastes delicious, but is almost forgotten due to the presence of the waiter. Wolfi - as we affectionately call him - is full of enthusiasm, always at your service and occasionally wonders about the Kurz government's corona policy. At some point he kicks us out because he would like to call it a day. We don't, which is why we continue the conversation on our balcony. Suddenly we are blinded by a snow-white light. We think it's a bike with xenon headlights, but lo and behold, it's Wolfi on what is probably the only Segway in the Montafon. As the evening can only get worse from then on, we switch off the lights too.
We don't have any milk for the coffee, so we go out for a drink. An old man in a hat is drinking red wine in the café next to the church. Two others join him, but it's too early for wine, they prefer to drink beer at 9 o'clock. I'm taken with the atmosphere, so we sit down within sight of each other. On the way back, we make a detour to a cheese cellar. There's sausage there too, but not as nice as the half-wild pigs'. At the same time, Flup and I look at each other in horror: We've forgotten the good salami in the minibar in Sterzing! Dejected, we buy some pumpkin seed liqueur to cover up the pain.
Around midday, we leave Schruns in the direction of home. We reach Zurich via Liechtenstein and a short stop at Lake Walen, where the price of the drinks seems very exorbitant. There, Flup has to pick up framed pictures worth and weighing the same as a small car. That would be an almost impossible task by bike. In real life, we are not motorised and therefore only buy the essentials out of conviction. But the SUV has tempted us. It tempted us into a week of consumption, culture and recklessness. It was wonderful. It will remain an exception.
