An alpine sommer

apfelstrudel, freshwater, and roving freelance journalism

Holidays aren’t always refreshing. In fact I am still recovering from one as I write this (I know, your heart bleeds for me).

It did, however, leave me feeling full.

I think why holidays can be so replenishing is down to their sensuality. They are a bounty for the senses. Instead of being static, staring at screens, being up in your head all day, holidays push other buttons.

Recently, a friend and I travelled from Prague, where I spent a few days catching up with some friends. We took the train from Prague, changed lines a couple times, and headed for Salzburg, Austria.

My pitch to my Prague-based friend had focused on hiking, swimming, eating. She’d wanted to go to Greece (again). But southern Europe is too hot in high summer. I didn’t want to fend off crowds, peak prices, and 40 Celsius temperatures. The death of Michael Mosley haunts me. The irony of it. Someone so knowledgeable about the body dying in the way that he did. Wilting forever in the heat.

No. Give me fresh water, mountain air, and clear rivers. Shores of alpine lakes. For Germans and Austrians and the Swiss this is standard, but for Brits I’d wager it’s a fairly novel idea since beach destinations such as Corfu, Magaluf, Zadar, Tenerife, Ibiza are more common.

We walked. We hiked. So many steps. A massive, sudden increase from my days at home. I remember dappled paths climbing and undulating, wending their way through forested hills, shaded from the dazzling sun. A vista awarding the effort. Craggy peaks that hold the air a certain way. Breathe that in. The energy of it.

We descended and found a river and I plunged into one of its streams, grateful. Cold, mineral rich. Water cascading over rocks. The colour of the liquid like a commercial for youth. We rested awhile, on the stream’s shore, and I read a literary magazine I’d brought with me while some hippy Austrians played reggae on the same, small pebbly beach.

My skin had tasted sweat, the change in the air as we moved in elevation, and the freshness of the river. My feet knew the small stones and the unpaved path, with its pleasing variation and occasional tree root. My eyes rested on the fractal shadows and the distant views. Carbon dioxide was expelled.

Our trip included a visit to a lake where there were very few other visitors. It was a weekday but still. I was astonished that such easily reached beauty could be so unknown. Of course to call it “unknown” sounds very stupid to the locals, but it was unknown to me.

And now I know it.

The eating part of the trip was less successful. I’d wanted pork knuckle, currywurst, and apfelstrudel. I didn’t see the first one (probably too far from the actual Alpine taverns for that), while my traveling companion prevented me in my search for sausages (who knows why), but I did manage to order plenty of apple pastry. Mit schlag. No I am not insulting anyone: schlag is German for cream. Apfelstrudel should be everywhere in my opinion. It is nutritious and delicious. Soft folds of puff pastry that offers bite and a bit of crisp on the exterior, wrapped around baked apple, jammy, sour and sweet, a hint of nuttiness, and the embrace of cream (or custard or ice cream or all of the above). So comforting, so perfect after a hike and swim.

Salzburg is a nice city, although small enough to be considered a town. It has truly amazing infrastructure and facilities for a population of just 157,000 residents. It is clean, modern, with some lovely architecture. It is famous as the birthplace of Mozart, that wunderkind. I thought I had to see the old town (the altstadt). I would’ve left with FOMO had I not. But the old town was full of tourists (of which — of course — we were more). And not that interesting. The countryside surrounding Salzburg is the star of the show.

In hindsight we should’ve ventured beyond Salzburg, to stay, and been more adventurous, and done more hiking and nature stuff. But we know now, for another time. What I like about travel is that you create your own maps, you fill out your own mental image of the world. You become more worldly. You learn essential things, like how to buy a tram ticket, or navigate the bus/subway of another country. Once you’ve mastered these basic things, like a newborn, like an alien baby, you grow in mastery. And the next time, you can waltz through it like Mozart, while you look at newborns like they’re Salieri (Amadeus, amadeus!).

To return to where we started, that bit about feeling full. It comes from a strong dose of sunlight, gimme all that Vit D! Sparkling water against my back and temples, and lots and lots of walking. Laughter and conversation and beer and apfelstrudel mit schlag. I came back stronger, physically filled out, gaining muscle (and fat), and a better perspective on things. Social media and its discontents seem smaller and the summer still feels big.

My roving days as a freelance, wandering writer

Photo by Majkell Projku on Unsplash

I spent about 18 months as a wandering writer, a nomad, a travelling freelance journalist, from 2019 to 2020. I criss-crossed Asia.

But the journey had begun earlier. As early as 2015 I was sallying forth from Beijing, where I was based for six years working as a freelance foreign correspondent, to Southeast Asia and beyond.

For example, in early 2015, I went to Myanmar/Burma, with the express intention of seeking out stories that I could then sell to help fund the costs of the trip. I wrote about these forays on my blog — theluhai.com — and chronicled the challenges. These experiments had mixed results and I would learn from them. For instance, I learned that when you combine travel with journalism, you really have to go at a slower pace. If you’re wondering about Burma, I did get something published from that trip, for CNN.

And soon, I expect to return to these peripatetic ways.

I will learn (again) to slow down, to travel at an unhurried pace, and to soak up the stories I hear. The information I pick up along the way is its own kind of bounty. It’s what makes me feel alive.

Yet it does get harder as one gets older. I fear loneliness. That rootless feeling. Freelancing is more challenging than ever, with low fees, fewer outlets, and more competition creating a less optimistic environment. Thankfully, I have a great store of savings, accrued from working a full-time job for nearly two years and low outgoings. It’s a big change from before, when I would travel with just £2,000 in my savings account, and I was living off the proceeds from one article to the next. Really, that was how I was living for much of my twenties. Some of my more fiscally responsible friends could not believe me when I told them that that was what I was doing.

But I am excited. Rich pastures beckon, sea breezes blow, new people to charm. The world truly is so large and there is so much to explore.

I remain humble in its possibilities.

Beyond the jump is information on the trip to Salzburg and the stunning Austrian countryside, with details on accommodation, locations, costs, and more… as well as info on where I’m travelling next and how much I paid for it…