The Longest Day Continues

When we last left our weary travelers, they were just checking into their room in the Italian hamlet of Castelrotto.  Eager for adventure (they did not come all the way to Europe just to take a nap), they headed out to explore the town.  I did not realize how easy it would be to know you were not in the United States anymore just by a single glance at the world around you.  The architecture of the buildings was just different enough; some had murals beckoning back to knightly themes and fables of yore.  In the middle of town rose a gigantic bell tower, the likes of which you would be unlikely to see in an American town.  In Italy it is said that many people fall in love with the sound of their hometown bells and that they can discern it from any other bells in the country.  It was fascinating to think that this monolith sticking out from the sleepy hamlet could be such a unifying force.  

 As we walked the narrow streets we marveled at the integration of both new and old.  A town a thousand years old maintaining its pastoral charm while integrating the modern conveniences of the 21^st century.  As we would see throughout our trip, this integration is far from seamless, oftentimes we would walk by wires running along the sides of buildings until a hole was bored through 800 year old stucco to bring power to the inside.  Modern conveniences like indoor plumbing and showers would have to be incorporated into square footage not necessarily conducive to the comfort of a particular large American, and yet the charm was constant. 

 But back to the sights and sounds we were seeing in that moment.  We headed to the church, a square building whose exterior bespoke of its more modern lineage (around 1850).  Arthur wondered whether the Reformation would have gone this far south in Austria but it took two seconds inside the cavernous room to show the strength of Catholicism in the region.  It was a wonderfully ornate church, the first of many (Alex rolls her eyes) that we would tour.  In the square outside of the church a few of the locals were strolling by or gathering to chat.  On Sundays they all still make a point to wear traditional clothing.  Alex liked the idea of everyone in the town joining together to keep these traditions alive since wearing lederhosen by yourself can lead to being the brunt of a lot of jokes.  

 Outside of town we walked up a hill where buildings depicting scenes of the stations of the cross line the trail to the top.  This led up to a Roman fort.  Older than the town by centuries, the fort beckons back past the days of feudalism to the era of Roman imperial rule.  Never ones for taking the same path twice, we ventured down the back side of the hill on the Peace Trail surrounded by a fairy tale forest with mushrooms and toadstools that hearken back to the illustrated books of our youth.  

 We ambled back into town and Alex directed us towards the only restaurant open on Sunday evenings.  Alex had spinach dumplings and though the name was really, really German, Arthur basically had pork chops in the creamiest mushroom sauce you can imagine.  As would be our standard practice, we switched plates halfway through the meal so we could both experience twice as much food on this trip, spinach dumplings despite what you might imaging are actually quite tasty and filling.  By now it was dark and the weary travelers who couldn’t keep their eyes open during dinner headed back to the hotel for a well earned night's repose. And there we will leave them until tomorrow.  Omnia Vincit Amor.