Life in Innsbruck isn’t half bad. I wonder/wander around this city each day with camera/phone/gopro in hand and snap away randomly at everything that takes my interest. Then those same photos sit on my hard drive and never see the light of day. I almost only write stories to accompany the special photos I take on trips and adventures. But some of the best photos I have are without stories. They are just small independent snapshots of something I was doing that day.
Here’s a photo from my bedroom window. Its 5pm, any day of the week, I’m at home. Kettle has been clicked on before the shoes or coat have been taken off, and I get to look out the window, over the small roundabout and impressive 1890’s built houses, with the mountains framing the background. I drink my cup of tea and watch what goes on. Nothing very exciting. People coming back from work, planes taking off from the airport just across the river. Clouds clinging, dancing and bouncing off the couloir-capped peaks. The sunsets are majestic, but just too distant to be captured into a perfect photo. Too much foreground distraction in the picture to really focus on the subtle changes of shade as the snow reflects yellow, gold, orange, red, purple and eventually blue light back into the city. No photo will capture the true beauty, but this one comes close.
This is the old town. Its cram packed with tourists all the time. its made up of some beautiful examples of imperial architecture which meld together to make a densely packed nest of shadowy cobbled streets. I’ve had a few quick attempts to take some good photos, but they have all failed. They mainly contain blurred bodies in the foreground, where an enthusiastic pedestrian has crossed your shot. Or they have wires, cars, or neon signs in them, detracting from what I feel this central European scene should look like. This photo was taken during the Easter market (Osternfest); the already packed streets were made to accommodate a line of wooden huts in the centre, each one selling artefacts and knickknacks varying from hand crafted Tyrolean authenticities, to made in china Jesus-figurines. Of course, no European market would be complete without the requisite over-fried and re-fried delicacies covered in icing sugar.
Every town has its go-to walk, or activity. The thing that people do. For some people its their exercise; their experience of the outdoors. For others, its just a quick jaunt when other plans have yet to materialise. In Boulder, its a hike at Chautauqua or up to the Royal Arch; short burst of suburban exercise that can be made as strenuous as needs be. In Combe Martin, Hangman hill fits the bill. A mile from town with all encompassing views. In Innsbruck, the short suburban space-filler is the walk up to Hungerburg. I’m not sure whether Hungerburg is really part of the city, but its connected with a tram and a road, and also a meandering half-paved half-gravel path that crosses a couple of cascading rivers, and meanders past some interesting buildings tucked into the trees. You pop out of the woods into the melee of people who have just disembarked from the tram, and stare un-blinkingly at how quickly you have risen above the streets.