Mature Flâneur
The Gobsmacking Grossglockner High Alpine Road
Austria’s biggest thrill ride
The name Grossglockner literally means “big bell.” It suits Austria’s highest mountain, because it kind of looks like a bell (well more like a pyramid, I think). Still, at 3,798 meters above sea level (12, 461 ft.), it’s the biggest damn bell in the world, and the second tallest peak in the Alps. I took the photo, above, from my balcony this morning, at the little farmhouse my beloved spouse Teresa and I are staying in the village of Heiligenblut (pop. 966), nestled in the valley in the shadow of the mountain.
Heiligenblut means “holy blood,” and it comes from the legend that a Danish prince was on his way home from a pilgrimage to Constantinople in 914 A.D. when he was buried in this valley by an avalanche. Three ears of corn mysteriously grew from the place where he died. When villagers dug up the spot of the three ears, they found the prince’s corpse, which had on it a vial of Christ’s blood — a priceless relic he had been carrying home to Denmark. (A request by village to canonize the Dane was never approved due to lack of evidence…the villagers built him a crypt and an altar, anyway, which is now in the basement of the village church).
Though the holy blood may have blessed the village, economically, it benefitted more from the mountain. The Grossglockner played a key role in the development of mountaineering, attracting climbers since the first summit in 1800. These days about 5,000 people a year climb to the top (sadly, altogehter some 248 have died trying, mostly in avalanches). Though the village has plenty of guest houses and gear shops, tourism doesn’t seem to have overwhelmed Heiligenblut’s distinctly agricultural character. (Our B&B hostess brought us fresh milk from her cows).
Even better, for the lucky villagers, in the 1920s, the Austrian government made the crazy decision to build a road all the way from Salzburg through high alpine passes to Grossglockner. The intention was to attract tourists to the sheer spectacularity of driving through the icy peaks. It worked. Now 900,000 visitors per year drive this 48km mountain road with 36 hairpin turns and a climb to over 2,500 meters that takes them right through Heiligenblut on the way out.
But, when Teresa and I were ready to drive the road mid May — we discovered it was closed. We had had a few days of drizzly rain while staying along the Inn River Valley; on the high alpine road that turned into many feet of fresh snow. And so, gnashing our teeth, we were forced to take a long detour south around the Grossglockner massif, and then came up the valley to Heiligenblut, sit tight, and hope for clear skies in the days to come.
Our third day in the village — today — the sky was brilliant blue when we awoke. We were excited when we checked the Grossglockner Road’s website and learned they would finish clearing the snow just after noon. Our farmhouse was literally one kilometer from the gate, and so we were the second car through when the road opened. The only downside was that the part of the road that leads to the Grossglockner itself, including a stupendous view of the glacier that lies beneath it, like a long icy tongue — had not yet opened for the season. Oh well. Zoom, zoom, up the winding route we drove in our trusty little hybrid. Very quickly, we hit the snow line:
A few more treacherous turns to the Hochlor Pass, and we were smack in the middle of winter:
Teresa took some amazing video of the drive from the passenger’s seat. Luckily, I learned how to add video to Medium.com, so buckle up and click the link. You might want to put on a sweater first:
We pulled into one viewpoint with a poignant monument dedicated to the many workers who died building the road and keeping it clear:
By this time the clouds had moved in both, above and below us like infinite slices of fluffy white bread. Sandwiched between these two layers was a slit of clear sky, though which we could spy half a dozen massive, snow-capped peaks. It was one of the weirdest things I’d ever witnessed.
A few bends further along, we came to the turnoff for Edelweissspitze, the highest point on the road at just over 2,500 meters. The walk from the parking lot to the summit was only a shoveled footpath. Teresa was content to wait, warm in the car, while I walked up. Over the guardrail, I looked out into a world of white. I spied a small brown rock right in the middle of it. The rock moved. The rock walked. Then it stood on its hind legs. It was a marmot. Others appeared, burrowing up through the snow. Running around, chasing each other. They were, I swear, frolicking.
When I rejoined Teresa, we decided to see what meager fare the highest restaurant in Austria might have to offer. The menu featured pretty standard Austrian food, heavy on the fried meats and sausage, which meant everything on the menu had gluten in it. I resigned myself to a salad, but asked the friendly lederhosen-wearing server if he had anything gluten free. To my amazement, and he said the chef could make gluten-free Wiener schnitzel. Whoa — nowhere else in Austria have I found this on the menu! The waiter, who was also the owner, told me his wife has celiac disease (as do I), so she insisted some specialties on the menu must made gluten-free. And so, on the top of the Grossglockner Pass I ate Austrian haute cuisine.
The restaurant was jammed with all kinds of crazy Austrian antiques: a wooden pitchfork, primitive skates and iron ice-walking shoes, a wagon wheel, stuffed marmots, a fox, a massive cowbell. One wall had a bizarre six-horned hairy mask like some kind of demonic goat creature. A clothes line of women’s linen underwear from a bygone era was strung between tables, and two battered brass instruments hung from the rafters. The place was utterly wild, yet somehow not at all Cracker-Barrel kitschy. I asked the owner about the place, and he said the restaurant has been in his family for three generations — since the road first opened almost 100 years ago. The decor was probably their own family heirlooms and old junk — who needs an attic when you own an alpine restaurant?
After lunch, we began our descent down towards Salzburg. Before long we were thick in a sea of fog with only fifty-foot visibility. Rather than continue blindly to the bottom, we simply turned around, and drove the whole route back to our cosy farmhouse. If it’s sunny tomorrow, we’ll do the Grossglockner Alpine Road all over again. 😎
Postscript — it was not sunny the next day, but the day after that, the clouds were high. It was our last morning in Heilingbrut, and so we drove up to the gate, only to discover the road to the glacier had just opened for the first time this year! Here’s your bonus picture of the largest glacier in the eastern Alps: it’s in the upper right above the large frozen lake. The Peak of Grossglockner is just visible in the clouds.
Did you miss one of my earlier stories about Austria’s Alps? Here they are:
