An Alpine Adventure

The Swiss Alps as seen from Austria.

It was a ski vacation to Austria, a bucket list trip, in the company of good, old friends. The skiing was nice. The cuisine was wonderful. The scenery, spectacular.

But I was taken by a cow barn.

The trip started from Boston’s General Edward Lawrence Logan International Airport. Icelandair flies a nicely renovated 757 from Logan to Reykjavik, where we made a frantic 20 minute connection to Munich. No panic was necessary as all the heavy ski baggage somehow miraculously made the next flight, as did we.

Munich is situated on a broad plain in northern Bavaria. As we rode south with limitless expanses and far horizons, we could only pray that there were actually mountains involved in this venture. Finally, after an hour, the terrain became hilly, rising, with pine covered mountains in the distance. Yes! We had not accidently gotten on the wrong bus.

For several hours more we continued south, into Austria, and up into the Alps. The mountains grew taller, steeper, and we negotiated multiple tunnels and high mountain passes. Finally, we entered a valley containing our destination, the village of Ischgl.

It was late in the day, so after checking into our attractive, warm, wood and stainless hotel, we wandered the streets a bit then returned for dinner, and retired, exhausted after a very long day of travel.

Next morning, after a bounteous breakfast buffet, we ventured out once again and paid more attention to our surroundings. Ischgl is nestled in a deep, narrow valley. There is a small river flowing through and a few hay meadows extending a couple of hundred feet up the slopes. Above that, it is too steep to harvest hay and the slopes ascend steeply into pine forests. The sun peeks into the deep valley, directly, for only a few hours each day. A tough environment in which to grow corn and potatoes and beans. And hay.

The valley floor is at 4,500 feet, with the slopes angling steeply up to over 7,500 feet. A ride up in a gondola is nearly a nosebleed experience. Arriving at the top, we are above the tree line, and see a plateau of brilliant white, as the snowfields are firmly established at this level. To the south, another mountain ridge rises to nearly 10,000 feet. Unlike the narrow confines of the valley, at this altitude we can see for miles, plateaus and peaks extending into the far distance. It is as if we have escaped into another world. We must wonder how the early human inhabitants of the deep mountain valleys reacted when first ascending the heights to see this panorama.

But we do know that they did so. In the summer, these snowfields are alpine meadows, lush with grasses and flowers, benefiting from full sun unlike the narrow valleys below. We must wonder how human settlers, 6,000 years ago, solved this puzzle.

They did so by migrating their livestock, cows, sheep, and pigs, from the deep valleys to the high plateaus every season. The herdsmen would live in stone huts and tend the animals, protecting them from predators with the help of stringy, tough dogs. At the end of the season, in the fall, the herds were brought back down to the village. These comings and goings were celebrated as festivals, with the cows gaily decorated and costumed.

And that’s where we were, now, in the deep valley, in the winter. Walking about the village, we smelled the unmistakable odor of cow. (Those of you who grew up in the country know that of which I speak).

And suddenly, we realized we were standing outside a dairy barn. A large, two story building nestled between the tourist hotels, on a street crowded with skiers on the way to après ski celebrations. We found a window and brushed a bit of dust aside. The view became clear, a row of dairy cows in their stanchions patiently awaiting the evening milking. It became clear that the ancient rhythms of husbandry continued in Ischgl in spite of the enormous growth of tourism.

This seasonal migration of livestock from the deep valleys to the high plateaus had been going on for over 6,000 years, driven by the simple fact of available sunshine. And it turns out that the name for the high mountain pastures are “alps.” And that the mountains in which this process occurs are called the Alps.

What a deeply meaningful bucket list trip. To ski in a fabulous locale, famous worldwide. But to discover common agrarian roots, to smell those wonderful cows, that was profoundly satisfying, It goes without saying… we’d do it again.