Austrian Alps Quotes

The bow of the Carpathians as they curve around northwestward begins to define the northern border of Czechoslovakia. Long before it can complete that service the bow bends down toward the Austrian Alps, but a border region of mountainous uplift, the Sudetes, continues across Czechoslovakia. Some sixty miles beyond Prague it turns southwest to form a low range between Czechoslovakia and Germany that is called, in German, the Erzgebirge: the Ore Mountains. The Erzgebirge began to be mined for iron in medieval days. In 1516 a rich silver lode was discovered in Joachimsthal (St. Joachim’s dale), in the territory of the Count von Schlick, who immediately appropriated the mine. In 1519 coins were first struck from its silver at his command. Joachimsthaler, the name for the new coins, shortened to thaler, became “dollar” in English before 1600. Thereby the U.S. dollar descends from the silver of Joachimsthal.

Lake Bled, when we arrived, was no disappointment. It had poured into an alpine valley at the end of one of the Ice Ages and provided early nomads there with a resting place—in thatched houses out on the water. Now it lay like a sapphire in the hands of the Alps, its surface burnished with whitecaps in the late-afternoon breeze. From one steep edge rose a cliff higher than the rest, and on this, one of Slovenia’s great castles roosted, restored by the tourist bureau in unusually good taste. Its crenellations looked down on an island, where a specimen of those modest red-roofed churches of the Austrian type floated like a duck, and boats went out to the island every few hours. The hotel, as usual, was steel and glass, socialist tourism model number five, and we escaped it on the second day for a walk around the lower part of the lake.

We were shooting in a little village up near the Austrian border, near the Alps. It’s the last shot of the picture and I had to come out of a building sobbing, walking right past the camera. And De Sica saw that the director didn’t know how to tell me what to do . . . We went into a dressing room and in his very limited English, talked to me. And he got me so grief stricken that I couldn’t stop crying. I did the scene and that was that.

A recent study of common frogs living near Ithaca, New York, for example, found that four out of six species were calling—which is to say, mating—at least ten days earlier than they used to, while at the Arnold Arboretum, in Boston, the date of peak blooming for spring-flowering shrubs has advanced, on average, by eight days. In Costa Rica, birds like the keel-billed toucan (Ramphastos sulfuratus), once confined to the lowlands, have started to nest on mountain slopes; in the Alps, plants like purple saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia) and Austrian draba (Draba fladnizensis) have been creeping up toward the summits; and in the Sierra Nevada of California, the average Edith’s Checkerspot butterfly (Euphydryas editha) can now be found at an elevation three hundred feet higher than it was a hundred years ago. Any one of these changes could, potentially, be a response to purely local conditions—shifts, say, in regional weather patterns or in patterns of land use. The only explanation that anyone has proposed that makes sense of them all, though, is global warming.

There is no way of constructing a false narrative to explain the presence of soiled underwear, bearing your name, behind a radiator in a fuel station in the foothills of the Austrian Alps.

I didn't receive encouragement from anywhere or anyone saying that I could ever be more than that. All that changed at college. Suddenly, I was told I could do anything. This newly-encountered optimism was utterly confusing to me at first and even felt fake at times— but it made all the difference. Encouragement was the ingredient I needed in my life to start believing in myself.

I have been to the Alpine countries of Austria and Ardamia before, but never to this corner of the range, and while the journey to St. Liesl, which perches high above sea level, was not a comfortable one, it took my breath away. The path wound up a mountainside still dotted with the last of the summer flowers, snowbells and cheery buttercups. Mountains cluttered every horizon, many crowned in an eternal snow. Below us was the town of Leoburg with its railroad, its neat stone-and-timber buildings, its sharp and commanding steeple, but the higher we went, the more all this was dwarfed by the wildness surrounding it, the railroad a thin line of stitches connecting us to the world we knew. And then we rounded a bend in the path, and we could no longer see the town at all. I understand now why the folklore of the Alps is so rich--- the many folds and crevices in the mountainsides could hide any number of faerie doors opening onto dozens of stories.