And they lived happily ever after

Three days of hiking in the mountains with the best possible tour guide: My Favourite Son. I had been excited about the idea for weeks, no, months, had been planning and purchasing and packing and dreaming of rocky mountain faces glowing in the evening sun, and looking forward to telling the story of how we had hiked together after returning home.

As the Favourite Son and I were chatting on one of the less-steep paths (where I actually managed to keep up with him, and wasn’t puffing and panting so hard that conversing was impossible anyawy), he said: „Why are all your stories always so negative?“. Well, they are filled with mishaps, obstacles and surprises because, if nothing happens, there’s no story to tell. If our hike had gone as planned, there wouldn’t have been much of a story: We would have walked up a mountain, spent the night in a mountain hut, walked down again, met some cows, c’est tout. If you want to tell a story, there has to be some difficulty to overcome!

And once you start telling them, there’s three types of stories: Ones where something unexpected or ill-fated or unlucky happens, but it all turns for the best and the story has a happy ending. Like most fairy tales.

Then there’s the stories where something unexpected or ill-fated or unlucky happens, but it all takes a turn for the worse and ends in death and disaster. Like a Greek tragedy.

Or, finally, there’s the non-stories, in which bleakness and eternal gloom paint a depressing picture of the meaninglessness of everything, but this kind of story isn’t usually set in the beautiful scenery of the Austrian Alps. Like a film noir movie. Can you imagine a film noir movie with cowbells ding-donging cheerfully in the air, set against the backdrop of lush green meadows, filled with pretty little flowers in every colour of the rainbow, with birds happily chirping away, bees happily humming, hikers happily treading into cowpiles as they forget for one second that you shouldn’t take your eyes off the path to admire the contrast of the bright-blue sky, the grey of the rocks, the dark green of the fir trees? Neither can I.

So, back to my always-negative stories, here’s one with a ton of luck, nice and helpful people, a proud Mum and her skillful Favourite Son:

Once upon a time, the Favourite Son and his Mother had agreed to hike together in the Karwendel mountains. The Mother would arrive by car and the Favourite Son would join her a bit later, riding his trusty steed (a.k.a. his motorbike) all the way to the hotel deep in the valley where they would meet. It was way too cold for the time of year and rained relentlessly in the valley. Thick clouds shrouded the mountains and all sounds were muffled.

But as the mother approached their meeting point, the Favourite Son rang to tell her would not make it to the hotel on that night as he had just had a little accident with his motorbike about an hour’s drive away! What misfortune. What good luck, however, that he had not even hurt a hair in the mishap.

The next day, the Mother picked up her son where he had left his bike and they drove to a motorbike garage nearby to order the spare parts needed for repair. They were told it would arrive two days later. What good luck: This day, they could simply go hiking as planned to while away the wait for the spare part.

Their good luck did not end there: The next morning, the weather took a turn for the better, and the sun shone down from a bright, clear blue sky as they climbed up the mountain, past all the beautiful scenery, unti they arrived, tired and sunburnt, at Falkenhütte in the evening. After taking in the stunning views, they enjoyed a hearty meal before curling up in their bunk bed in the cozy wooden cabin for the night. The next morning, they climbed all the way down again, passing by cows and more stunning scenery, hiking through forests and along the bright blue Rißbach stream, until they arrived back in Hinterriß, where they were to spend their last night.

Well-rested, they set out to pick up the spare part and repair the Son’s bike the next morning. They bought a small tool set with which the Son skilfully repaired his bike. How proud his Mother was of his good work! What good luck that the mother had been able drive her Son to the repair shop and gear shop, and did not have to return to work immediately! What good luck that the sun was shining again and the Son did not have to repair his bike in the pouring rain! How skilful the Son had been to repair the bike himself!

With that, the Mother and Son parted ways again; the Son mounted his bike and rode off into the sunset, while the Mother took her car to the motorway and all the way back to the Best Husband in the World without a single traffic jam. What good luck!

And the Mother and Son lived happily, if not ever after, at least until their next adventure. And hopefully, their good luck travelled with them so the story of their next adventure will be another fairy tale.