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Early on, we thought the journey may turn into a disaster. The train ride was taking us deeper and deeper into a blizzard as we climbed the Bavarian Alps. The view from the train was 'white'. We stopped at Innsbruck to visit the Swarovski Crystal Cave, which turned out to be an art gallery for the bizarre, having undergone extensive renovations since our guide book was published. I enjoyed a carving by Salvador Dali - a clock draped over a clothes hanger. The only real crystal was one huge raw rock (55 million karats, 1100 pounds) and another beautiful 300,000 karat cut stone. After the bus fare, entrance fee and time we spent in the art gallery, we felt it had not been one of our better days. We had a brief wander around the town of Innsbruck before our next train, and found the ‘Golden Roof’ (Goldene Dachl - with gold-coated copper shingles) and Mozart's house, a cute one (built in 1626) in a tiny cobblestone lane. On to Salzburg ....

After the bus fare, entrance fee and time we spent in the art gallery, we felt it had not been one of our better days. We had a brief wander around the town of Innsbruck before our next train, and found the ‘Golden Roof’ (Goldene Dachl - with gold-coated copper shingles) and Mozart's house, a cute one (built in 1626) in a tiny cobblestone lane.

On to Salzburg ....

By the time we arrived it was quite late in the day. The weather was still verging on snow. Our route from the train station to town took us through the Schloss Castle - we felt 'Slush' was a more appropriate name at that time, trudging around in a foot of snow in our street shoes . These gardens featured in the ‘Sound of Music’ and would probably be beautiful in summer, with carved archways, symmetrical patterns, life size statues and fountains. Now one poor bed of pansies, that must have been planted too early, appeared to be huddling together under the snow and seemed to mirror my feelings at that point.

We passed Mozart's house which did not appear quite as impressive of the one in Innsbruck, crossed the river and took refuge in a fish shop to don all the rest of the clothing in our packs. It had giant trees growing right up through the middle of it.

We found the Dom Cathedral and I experienced one of those moments you go to Europe for. The three huge bronze doors were carved to depict Faith, Hope and Charity. Interestingly, Hope showed someone being beheaded. I photographed these for my father, whose small book on religion I had recently read. It was a time for reflection for me too. We saw so much religious art on this trip and were constantly appalled at the violence it displayed. Inside the Dom were the most richly carved and vaulted ceilings, gold carved crucifixes, incredible painted panels, giant statues, an amazing alter and huge ornate organ pipes. We later learned that the alcoves off to the side of the cathedral are each sponsored by individual families, and often hold the crypt of their patron or saint. One particularly magnificent chapel bore the inscription "Excelsius Deo". This childhood mantra, which I could never fully understand, now seemed to capture for me the passion and devotion of those who created such incredible beauty to the glory of God. This was one of the first of many churches we visited in Europe, their breathtaking décor was something I had not been prepared for.

As we left the Dom Cathedral, 500 church bells chimed not far from where we were. It turned out to be the bells of St Peters Abbey (dating back to 847). We walked until we were under the bell tower, reveling in the beautiful tones, which seemed to penetrate to our bones, resonating long after the chime had stopped. We entered the church with its musty 1200 year old odor, and ushered another silent 'wow' when the fantastic artwork of the vaulted ceiling appeared as our eyes adjusted to the light. We were pleased to find postcards for sale, as my little camera was totally inadequate to capture such a scene.

Outside again we found a restaurant carved back into the sheer rock face of a quarry wall, advertising Mozart dinners. Beside it were the catacombs of St Peters, also carved into the cliff. We walked through the graveyard to reach the path to the fortress set on the top of the cliff. By this time the light was fading so we had only glimpses of the quaint little town. It was also starting to snow. The castle was closed by the time we reached the top. Determined to make the most of our walk up there, we continued along the road a way and met a local who suggested if we were warm enough, the walk along the mountaintop was beautiful and at the end was a yellow church with the best beer in Austria. He was right on both counts, and this proved to be one of our most memorable experiences in Europe.

By now it was getting dark and big, soft, wet snowflakes were falling quite consistently. The road was lit by old fashioned lamps and here and there were the ramparts of the old buildings peaking out from the winter forest. The evening bird song was the only sound in the snowy silence. It stirred memories for me of my childhood, and I was surprised to find I had some not unpleasant ones relating to snow! In places the road wound its way out to the edge of the quarry, apparently dating to Roman times, providing a spectacular view of the old town 200 ft below with its twinkling lights.

Eventually we came to a yellow building, which turned out to be a hotel. We were greeted by a painstakingly polite doorman. He informed us this was not a church, but a castle, and gave us a brochure with glossy pictures of beautifully appointed fairy tale rooms overlooking the valley, much out of the backpacker's price bracket! He said they too have beer, but the church we were looking for was further down. He took us out onto the terrace, squelching through ankle deep snow in his polished shoes, to show us and we all trudged snow back in through the immaculate lobby. He cheerfully waved us on and a few minutes later we entered the back doors of a large monastery. We went tentatively through corridors and on pushing open one enormously heavy wooden door the unmistakable sounds of a beer hall greeted us. There were four great rooms with the traditional long tables. These were sawn from beautiful blond pine, and we had seen one of these trees felled out in the forest. To get your beer, you choose a heavy stoneware mug from the shelf (1 liter size), rinse it in a marble fountain then take it to the bar where it is filled from a cask with a tap that the barman drives into it using a huge wooden mallet. It was excellent beer, made apparently by the monks. Out in the hallway there was a sort of food court with all sorts of delicious offerings including pickled pork knuckle (served hot with sauerkraut), sausages, pastries, and my favorite - roll mops.

After entertaining ourselves at the monastery for a while, we made our way back to the train station to catch an overnight train to Venice.

I am finishing this story at sea, a place where there are no churches, but much faith, and a lot of time to think about the meaning of life.