stuck in the middle with you

Innsbruck was a necessary stop for us – so as to split a potential ten hour train ride to Venice into two manageable halves. It was wedged between two exciting destinations, bookended if you will by two things of almost legendary beauty. Hallstatt was the opening novel, Venice the closing volume – and like any middle book in a trilogy, Innsbruck seemed in many ways a piece in transition, unfinished and unsatisfying.

But it was a somewhat amusing transition – a busy Alpine town, still basking in the golden years of its two winter Olympics. And a town very much built on the combined beauty of a Hallstatt and the modern conveniences of a Vienna. Innsbruck sits at the base of the elephantine Alps, seemingly at risk of being trampled underfoot, the mountains being so close and dominant of the skyline. The streets are lined with restaurants and high end stores. There is a mall, and a couple of movie theaters. And a handful of tourist attractions.


But in all truth my mind – reeling from Hallstatt and foaming in anticipation of Venice – had little room, in thought, for Innsbruck.