Woken at 4am by the sounds of a drunken horde stumbling back in to camp. There was much shouting as they entered the wrong tents or, in some cases, simply walked over those in their way. This left the occupants thrashing about in their collapsed tents like freshly caught tuna on the deck of a fishing boat.
By 9am the trail of destruction had cleared and our convoy was on the way to Salzburg via the beautiful Austrian Alps. Depending on which activity they’d paid for, the adrenalin junkies of the group would be dividing their time between Kitzbuhel and Salzburg for canyoning, ice-caving, sky-diving, white-water rafting, paragliding or mountain biking.
With my preferred activity of trout fishing cancelled, I elected to join Boris and Barnesy for a chairlift ride to the mountain top. Incredible views and crisp, clean air mixed with the screams of those who chose to go paragliding. Watching them run along a cliff top then launch into the sky I thought, “Man that looks good.” Then I thought of my instructor and I dropping to the earth like a pair of rocks, and my attention was refocused elsewhere.
Adventures over, everyone regrouped at “The Londoner” pub in Kirchberg. As Argentina put on a clinic defeating Serbia & Montenegro 6-0 we watched a sore and sorry Aussie tourist enter the venue. This guy had a dozen or so stitches in two very swollen lips, chipped teeth, blood still oozing from a bandaged nose and both his sprained wrists taped… who knew the boys from ‘Oasis’ were in town?
Due to a clause in their charter contract, the coaches were required to depart for Munich by 7pm – halfway through the Netherlands vs Ivory Coast match and meaning the blockbuster between Sweden and England would be played whilst we were on the road.
We watched the group reluctantly head for the coaches, the Aussie casualty reminding himself with each painful step that mountain bikes should not be ridden down mountain sides with the wheels reversed and the rider upside down over the handle-bars!
Realising there was nothing planned back in Munich until the next night, and not wanting to share a coach with the star of “The Kitzbuhel Patient”, we elected to stay in Austria. Barnesy got on the phone to a guy he knew in nearby St Johann and within minutes a taxi had been sent for us.
For the first time since I arrived in Europe seventeen days ago, it rained. Not just a passing shower either. With the recent dry, hot days replaced by humidity, Kitzbuhel put on a massive thunder and lightning show complete with downpour. As we boarded the taxi I slipped in the wet conditions kicking the underside of the door with the middle of my foot. Like Wayne Rooney I now had a fractured metatarsal bone. However, unlike England’s star striker I don’t have a nation depending on me so I decided to worry about it back in Munich.
As promised our contact was waiting for us at “Bunny’s Pub” in St Johann – an Aussie themed venue that is a must-see for any Aussie, Kiwi or Saffer passing through these parts. We were treated like royalty, enjoying a taste of home via a steady supply of Bundaberg Rum. We retired at closing time to the nearby hostel, still shaking our heads at the ability of an American tourist to get a coin into a distant glass nine times out of ten – without using her hands!
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