Between the Alps and the Southern Alps
There’s no better way to escape the world than to hike above it. No news, no emails, no noise—just the clean, thin air of the mountains and the crunch of grass or gravel. Escaping to the outdoors has always been my sanctuary, the one thing that strips life down to its essentials. By foot or pedal, up and over ridgelines, across rivers that run clear and fast, through valleys carved by glaciers long gone but never forgotten.
Austria reminds me of home, at least superficially. Perhaps it’s just been too long since I’ve been back, but the European Alps and the New Zealand Southern Alps could be siblings separated at birth - steep peaks, narrow glacial valleys, mountain passes that demand respect. I see reflections of Canterburys’ peaks in these European landscapes, where the sky stretches endlessly, and the air tastes sharp with altitude and change. But it’s the differences that make me ruminate.
In Austria, the valleys are never truely wild. A church spire rises in the distance, and around it, a village and its suburbs sprawl defiantly against nature’s dominion. Paved roads twist through the valleys, following the rivers that have been there long before any wheel touched the dirt. Gondolas and ski runs scar the mountainsides, and farms fill in the gaps. Every pass promises a meal served on actual plates, a cold Stiegl or Gösser that tastes like heaven after a day's climb, a warm bed with down comforters if you desire it. You don't need to shoulder provisions for days- there's always a hut, a gasthaus, a place where humanity has found a way to nestle itself comfortably into the wilderness.
Back home, it’s different. The valleys hold nothing but dense forest, ancient, tangled, and indifferent to your passage. The bush swallows sound like a thick blanket, leaving only the occasional birdsong to remind you that other creatures exist. If you find a road, it’s an anomaly. If you encounter another person, it’s a surprise. You can go days between any sense of civilisation, there are even vast swathes of land where helicopters are not allowed to land. You carry what you need because there’s no choice - you are on your own. And that, in its own way, is a gift. The huts are cold, damp, and you better have enough gas to cook your sad packet of freeze-dried sustenance, otherwise it’ll be a cold one.
In Europe, you can push yourself harder, knowing the safety net is there. You can through-hike and still make it back to your car by nightfall, thanks to a train or local bus servicing the valley below. It’s seamless, efficient, almost like cheating.
But the Europeans, for all their mountaineering history and technical prowess, are missing out on something—the quiet, existential thrill of true isolation. No church spires, no refuges, no lifelines. Just you and the mountain. Your choices and mistakes to make.
I love both in different ways. Austria is hiking made easy — beautiful, accessible, endlessly rewarding. New Zealand is hiking made pure.