A Tourist in my Home Place

I have left to come back home quite a few times now; I was always looking forward to arriving and eventually seeing those all-familiar mountain-skyline appearing in the distance, that very first glimpse of altitude on the horizon when relaxingly approaching from Franz-Josef-Strauss International never loses its magic. Always, I looked forward to meet up with great people, catch up on our lives, share stories, share experiences. Always, I looked forward to the first Schnitzel, the first Manner, the first Stiegl after all those desperate month of unfamiliar food intake. And always, I knew that it’d be back for good in that place that others usually get to ‘see’ for a week or two on their let’s-do-it-all-and-party-afterwards skiing holiday.

Not this time; This time was different. This time, I found myself back, indeed, looking forward to all mentioned above; but the difference was that this time, I only had X days to do all those things; the return flight was booked, the day of departure seemingly getting closer every minute; just like being a tourist, a tourist in my home place.

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So I was confronted with the challenge of every tourist: getting as much awesome and thrilling stuff done in as little time as possible. Within that lies the danger of not being able to actually experience the experiences. Trying to walk the thin line in the middle, three weeks in Tirol made for some, and hopefully lasting, experiences.

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And oddly enough, global warming made for some tears (imagine 24h of continuous rain in January) but also some excellent rock opportunities; Christmas climbing! But above all, of course: good to be home. Good to was home.