The Sattelberg Alm website

Bear with me on this, but when I first saw the Sattelberg Alm, I almost cried with disappointment. I had gone ahead to make sure we could get a bed or two and as I bounded up to the door I saw the sign that had become so familiar back in Steinach. It amounted to “Closed until summer.”

It was this that finally brought home to me point that the one thing that nobody ever does in late April is walk through Austria. Following the problems we had encountered earlier it would be reasonable to call me a slow learner. I sat down. I considered my options. If nowhere was going to be open until mid-June, it was going to prove very difficult.

Right at the point when I was considering running off into the hills rather than tell Julia, a slight Austrian man with short dark hair and a lively face popped his head out from a window. As I turned back to look in to the place in slight disbelief, (this was our first slice of luck in a while), he asked me what I wanted. I wanted a room. He looked troubled for a second. I looked into the dining area and saw about ten faces glimmering over a warm meal. If this was closed, definitions were having an off-day. I asked if it was OK, he told me they had a conference in four days and would have beds for us – he just didn't know where.

When I came back with Julia he informed us that no-one walks in Austria in April, “there's too much snow!” At this point, one of us might've said something a bit clever, but we liked this nice man who was putting us up. He gained instant and undying credibility about thirty seconds later when it turned out he could accurately guess the weight of Julia's pack to within 0.5kg after a glance at it. He directed us upstairs past the small rooms that had been taken up by the conference-goers into what looked like a rather nice loft conversion, laid out with beds for people just such as ourselves, only a couple of months later. It turned out he built this whole section of the Alm by himself a few years before. After showering we made our way down through the carefully decorated all-wood interior which later turned out to be all his doing, hoping they would be able to scratch some food together for his out-of-season unexpected guests, (he'd served the rest of dinner over an hour before) and with an impish grin he served us with an almost endless platter of perfectly cooked and seasoned spare ribs preceded by a soup that we both agreed was spot on. We just wanted a warm bed and if possible a nice meal; it turned out we had found superman.

Alois Nagele, known as Luis, owner of the Sattelberg Alm, made our unexpected stay feel anything but inconvenient. Sharing the place with a conference of airline pilots on a leadership course did cause me and Julia a few smiles, but not because we find airline pilots intrinsically funny, but from the outside looking in corporate seminars do look a little like weird cultist initiation rituals. Certainly fun, but with just a dash of evil.

I've gone through what actually happened when we were there and after we left (first time) on this page, so I will try not to overlap too much here. What I'm here to do is talk Sattelberg Alm.

Luis is a great host, and he knows what makes the alm special. Authenticity. It's not the same word as the one you'd use in London about a nice Italian restaurant, it's a different word that means he actually did spend his childhood chasing his father's cows around the Alps and the cowbell on the wall, from the herd (they still use them, it's still the best way), comes intact with a history. The same goes for the other items, and you get the feeling that Luis pulled in a very personal history of his family and his culture to make the alm what it is today. He's not sentimental about it either. While we were eating dinner on our first night, one of the staff's dogs (yes, a staff member's puppy allowed to roam the place during a meal) started chewing at one of the adornments. Luis just picked it up, gave the dog something better to chew and smiled.

Admittedly, in some other places, some of the things, like old wooden skis and snow shoes might seem kitsch, but that's because they're not in their place, and their place is the alm. All this oldness is actually quite new. When Luis' father gave him the job of running the alm all the wooden surfaces were covered in paint or plastic, and it took a lot of work to restore. In the old days an alpine inn was the only respite for walkers, but that's changing. “Now restaurants are being built at this height”, he says “and they are all modern.” He pauses, collecting himself in what is probably his third language. “Modern is lovely when you first see it, but it can get boring.”.

Turning a threat to an opportunity is classic good business and Luis has clearly exploited the natural strengths of the Sattelberg Alm as its best way to make a living. This is marvellous for us and inclusive of the other strong-point, the food, this place is a just bit special.

PS - I was looking at the alm's site this week, and this is an idea that certainly looks mad enough to be good fun. The second half is more interesting, as it includes most of the wipe outs...not that I find watching people fall into freezing water with skis on funny...no.