Oberstaufen, a small town nestled in the Allgäu. Home to cows with bells, squeaky clean air, 24-hour cheese vending machines, milk so thick you can use it as pommade, beautiful scenery, Lederhosen, the Alpsee, and our dear old friends Péa & Adam, whom we hadn’t seen for 3 years since they’d become early enlistees to the UK’s Brexit brain drain.
We finally arrived Saturday lunchtime. It’s only an hour’s drive from the Gitzy, but we were taking our mornings slowly. After a long overdue catch up and the first proper meal we’d had since we’d left Remagen (it was Pfifferlinge season and the place had a trout farm – an auspicious comeback), we headed to the Alpsee, Oberstaufen’s majestic bathing lake. As the sun blazed down, we passed en route through the village of Bad Rain. Portentous much?
Nursing an Aperol Spritz and gazing down this beautiful body of water from its easternmost tip, one of Bavaria’s famed storms thundered down the valley, scattering sun seekers, capsizing paddle boarders and ripping parasols from their moorings, leaving those hoping for a sudden improvement in the situation to congregate around the toilets, their drinks diluted beyond recognition with heavenly offerings. It didn’t come, at least, not soon enough. We retreated, but vowed to be back.
This weekend was about the people, though, and a fantastic time was had, eating cheese, drinking beer, talking crap, eating cheese – the Oberstaufen way. We left on Monday morning with a heavy heart but vowing to meet up later in the week before our time in Bavaria was up.
