Hunting a Tyrolean
The morning required a pit stop an a new Aldi to pick up our cache of fireworks for New Year’s Eve. Not since my childhood in Canberra have I entertained this level of nervous anticipation about setting off what are essentially mini-explosives. It is going to be F.U.N.
We travelled south, further into God’s country, to Bad Tölz — a quintessential Bavarian township — in a quest to find me a Tyrolean (traditional) hat.
With blue skies and sunshine for most of my holiday thus far, one could be forgiven to think that this was a typical German winter’s day — I was quickly assured it was not. The fantastic weather saw the little township abuzz with visitors, and further emphasised by a constant stream of buses that ferried them in.
Not usually one for headwear, I felt a great sense of achievement upon settling on dark grey number that fit quite snug — my thanks to the shopkeep who persevered with my indecision and kept on suggesting different styles, colours and trims. No doubt, I’ll be looking quite the part at next year’s Oktoberfest.
tdha
