Dear Readers, another glorious day dawned, and yet again we decided to curtail our plans a little because my ankle is still all the colours of the rainbow, and a bit stiff to boot (no pun intended). And so, we got the bus down to the Sahnestuberl, site of many a large piece of cake, and with stunning self-control we walked on past, to take what was described as ‘an easy path’ down to the village of Zwieselstein. Well, it was an easy path by Austrian standards but still involved the usual combination of tree roots, rocks, steep and narrow uphill and steep and narrow and slippery downhill, so I consider myself very pleased to have accomplished it. It really is the most beautiful walk in spite of its occasionally precipitous nature.

It was nice to have a bit of shady tree cover too. The Nutcrackers were making one hell of a racket, and we spotted one youngster chasing its parents through the trees and screeching for food. It takes a lot of pinenuts to keep one of these birds happy, clearly. No photos unfortunately, I was much too busy keeping my eyes on where my feet were going.

The butterflies this year have been absolutely stunning. Most are too fast for me to capture on film, but if they’re going to sit still, it will be on a thistle. I wonder if I could get a thistle garden going in the front of the house? The white mark on the underside of the wing makes me think the butterfly is some kind of Grayling, but there are those who will have a much better idea, I’m sure. The butterfly was sharing this thistle with a bumblebee and a couple of flies. How lovely to have such a variety of insect life in one place.

Anyhow, soon we arrived in the village of Zwieselstein. We were passed by a gentleman wearing lederhosen and a feather in his hat, and he was powering up the hill with two walking poles, an expression of absolute joy on his face. Clearly, this was a man for whom the mountain held no fears. The same could not be said for his two female companions, however, who were a considerable distance further back on the path, and had the gritted teeth and furrowed brows of those proceeding with grim determination. So often it’s the case that there are different attitudes to physical discomfort in the same party, and I sometimes wonder if the story told to people new to the Alps has neglected to mention all that going uphill business. It’s all very well in theory, but rather different when it’s hot, and dusty, and you’re a considerable distance from an Almdudler. Still, you either grow to love this place or you don’t, and for those who don’t, there’s always somewhere less taxing, like Kitzbuhel. Or even Vienna.

By now my foot was complaining, so we got the bus into good old Solden. There was no Almdudler in the cafe where we stopped, but there was a Tyrolean equivalent – it’s a bit sweeter, but nonetheless very welcome.

And in my quest to work my way through the many strudels of Austria, today was Topfenstrudel, which features sweetened cream cheese, and very nice it was too, especially with a great jug of custard.