Our parental leave road trip begins on narrow roads through southern Bavaria, heading towards Salzburg. In Obertauern, the little Smurf challenges us to a snowball fight with the last remnants of winter. We drive toll-free over the steep Karawanken Pass to our first stop near Villach, at a small farm. The landlady, originally from Berlin, has found her home and her calling. A little one is delighted by the trampoline, treehouse, goats, horses and a brilliant breakfast.
Early the next morning, we carry on over the Wurzen Pass into Slovenia. During the First World War, more people died here from hunger and cold than from the fierce fighting. Today, we have enjoyed peace for a long time. These days, peace is probably no longer held in particularly high regard. Uphill, whole squadrons of road cyclists battle their way to the pass summit in 25°C heat, sweating buckets. Downhill, one of them keeps in contact with our rear bumper for a long time through tight bends at 80 km/h. Unlike his forebears, however, he reaches Slovenia alive.
We cool off briefly in the turquoise Soca and continue through flowering meadows via Kobarid to Grado. The mountains quickly give way to endless flat alluvial plains. The Isola del Paradiso campsite isn’t cheap – but it’s beautifully situated on two small private islands in the Grado lagoon. The sun sets in a gigantic fireworks display behind the high Rosskopf, 200 km away. A wide variety of birds provide an almost perversely loud symphony to lull us to sleep.
At low tide, the lagoon runs almost completely dry. Even at high tide, we nearly run aground on sharp rocks a few times during a short kayak tour around the nearest island. Cormorants, herons, stilts and seagulls accompany us on our way. The fish heads at lunch the next day clearly have a sense of humour. They set off on their kayak tour just before the low point of the tide. Wading back over a kilometre through at least 50 cm of soft mud was certainly fun.
Grado is one big no-parking zone amidst yacht ghettos. The kitesurfing spot lies 300 m off the shore on a sandbank. That’s the only place you’re allowed to launch – even now in the early season with very few bathers. At high tide, the sandbank is submerged. During our four days here, however, the wind never picks up to more than 12 knots. The kites stay packed away. Children from Innsbruck go on a treasure hunt with the little one. They sing during happy hour in the bistro, laugh, dance, run about and shout. Life is good. In our hammock, we are the kings of our little islands. As we say goodbye, the first tears of travel begin to fall…
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.