Austria: Land of the Australians.

While most normal people tend to go to work on a Monday, I chose to go to Austria. And by chose, I mean I was bribed with offers of beer and shnitzel into taking a road trip with my boyfriend (i’m easy like that). I had just taken the last group of the summer semester down to Amalfi so I decided to reward myself with a nice long snooze in the car while we trekked up through the border of Italy and into the Austrian Alps. Until I was awaked by this ugly scenery:

Drivin down the highway

After a few hours, we showed up in the town of Hopfgarden, about 30 minutes outside of Innsbruck. Even I had to admit the town was cute–little houses that looked like they were made out of gingerbread, brightly colored plants hanging in boxes from the windows, and people strolling down the main street. Plus, it wasn’t 400 degrees outside, so obviously I immediately took a liking to it.

Our hotel, owned by Hansel and Gretel’s great-great-grandchildren, thrice removed.

The best part about Austria? It’s full of Australians! Apparently somebody caught on to the fact that Hopfgarden is a cheaper place to ski, snowboard, hike, etc. than neighboring Salzburg or Innsbruck, so they started carting in busloads of tourist on holiday. And I thought I was getting AWAY from tourists for the day…sigh.

After we checked in to our hotel, we set off to explore the area. Which took about 90 seconds, as the entire town can pretty much be summed up by one long main road with a bunch of meaningless alleyways attached. This is in no way a bad thing, because it left us with the rest of the day to do more important things, like drink beer and watch hilarious Austrian TV from the 1890’s television set in our hotel room.

And that’s the story of that monday I went to Austria. The end.

P.S- It’s summer, people. There are no students around and I am spending my days in the office talking to weirdos trying to sell me socks and stalking people on Facebook. There will be no interesting posts until the semester starts. Fair warning.



Author: The Florence Diaries

Living in Florence means always looking out for mystery poo on the sidewalk.

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