Gabriele had suggested a drive through the mountains across the Austrian border. The scenery would be beautiful and he knew a spot where we could grab a pint of unfiltered beer that he really liked. Halfway into our drive up the mountain we encountered the reason why camper vans are universally hated. A slow moving behemoth was meandering its way up the twisting road with a trail of frustrated car drivers behind him. Common courtesy dictates that drivers of these vehicles pull over every once in a while to relieve the congestion they have caused, but this guy was having none of it. Oblivious to his core, he honked at those who were bold enough to pass him. Gabriele attempted some evasive action and took a “short cut” down an older road to get in front of the rolling monstrosity, but our progress was halted by a mountain sheep and a lamb crossing the road. Mmmm…lamb.
We stopped in a small border town where Gabriele showed us the church bell tower. In it, the Austrians had carved out a special spot for an unexploded bomb dropped by the Italians during the war. The Austrians it seems are not so willing to leave the past in the past.
The next stop was at a restaurant at the base of a ski hill, which functions as a spa/water park during the summer months. It was there that my mom gave the Austrians a lesson in persistence. Never having been one who likes beer, mom is a sucker for the look of a cold one in the summer heat. The dew on the glass and the bubbles, it just looks refreshing. She followed our lead and ordered one for herself. No sooner had she taken a few sips when a bee landed in her glass, part of a large swarm that had taken up residence at the far side of the patio. We took refuge inside and mom left her drink outside with the obvious North American expectation that it would be replaced with a bee-less version.
To mom’s surprise, the proprietors refused. Resorting to Austrian practicality and matter-of-factness they told mom that the bee was not their problem and that the bees were part of nature. Stopping the bees was akin to asking them to brush the clouds away with a sweep of their practical hands. Gabriele began to laugh…he knew the Austrians were hard, but he also knew that mom mother wouldn’t back down if she felt wronged. The Austrians gave all sorts of reasons why they shouldn’t be responsible for the bees in their restaurant while conveniently ignoring the fact that they had placed a large bee trap on the patio that caused the swarm in the first place. Patrons should protect their drinks by putting a coaster on top of the glass. But the Austrians had met their match in a small feisty woman from the South of Italy. She walked back to our table with the sweet look of victory on her face. This beer would be delicious.
I would've liked to be there for your mother's bee incident, though I can probably imagine exactly what went down. Those Austrians are probably still reeling.
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