Travel-Related Post N°1

A Journey through Middle Earth

Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Our today’s topic is travelling, a very interesting topic indeed, for some more than for others but all in all something very special. Journeys are a beautiful thing aren’t they? A throughout enriching and engraving activity it is, and the most adventurous and exciting ones are written down in a book and stay accessible forever. Even more fascinating, however, is the telling of it at a warm and flickering open fire, for it is the spell binding tale that makes the children’s eyes shine and their imagination enlivened to an extent not comparable to anything else. Thus the story becomes unforgettable and locked up in our hearts, prepared to be passed on from grandfather to father and from father to son, generation for generation. 

Today I am going to tell you of a journey far from lying lazy on a beach with a piña colada in your hand and a fancy straw hat on your head. It is an adventure that leads us through picturesque meadows and deep forests, perilous mountains and dark mines. But let me start here in Graz, where it all started.
By the way, you might consider listening to this while reading!

Every journey begins with an adventurer!
You are allowed to admire my photoshop skills!!!

One day, it was late afternoon I remember, I sat in my little front garden, chilling and smoking my pipe as usual, when suddenly an old man with a gray frock and a long beard approached. He jumped over my gate and started to shake me while crying where the ring was and if anybody knew from it – apparently a lunatic. But as I reached for my phone to call the police, he hit me with his staff and pushed me into the house where he took my hand and grabbed my wedding ring. After looking anxiously at it while murmuring some strange words, he threw it into the open fire … where the ring melted down. Then he told me that I had to accompany him on a perilous journey with no prospect of ever returning. Still being stoned by the herbs I’ve smoked straight before, I immediately agreed and packed my things. We took the plane to New Zealand - economy class (such a tight-fisted bastard) – and arrived at about 7 o’clock pm (after 12 hours of being packed like sardines in a can) in a place called the Shire. 

The Green Dragon Inn in the Shire

Guys, you have never seen a more idyllic landscape; unspoiled nature with the greenest of greens and the surrounding smell of herbage and wild flowers, everything seemed to be just perfect - the people were unnaturally small though. After standing there for like ten minutes, gazing at the breath-taking beauty of the scenery, Alf (the man’s name) nudged me and said we would have dinner in Bree, a village not far from here. The inn was called ‘The Prancing Pony’, a shabby and somehow shady looking honky-tonk. Despite its dubious appearance, I can’t but recommend it, especially the food and drinks. They serve dishes of good old hearty cuisine and their own self-brewed beer, accompanied by folk music and an overall cheerful sentiment. The village of Bree itself, however, I wouldn’t recommend, particularly not if you travel with women and children, as it is a gray and depressing place, completely different from the Shire. The next day we bought a horse and rode eastward to a place called Rivendell, a charming little city in a valley that seems to excite your senses, in that at some time you zone out and see nothing but the mesmerizing gleam of the setting sun, hear nothing but the distant whooshing of waterfalls and the ripple of the small rills that run through the city and feel nothing but the mild breeze that carries the leaves of the Mallorn trees. Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m straying off course. Anyway, Rivendell wasn’t on our route merely because of its beauty but because we would gather here with some acquaintances from Alf. And those were some odd fellows indeed that seemed to accompany us on our further journey. 

A group photograph of our party - Alf is the third from the left!

However, we left our horses back and went on by foot, heading for a mountain chain which we intended to cross over a pass, the Pass of Caradhras, named after the mountain. The climb was rather smooth but as soon as we reached the path it became more and more challenging due to heavy snow fall, severe cold and avalanches that made an advancing impossible and eventually we had to back out and leave the pass. 

After a

Ascending the Caradhras wasn't easy, no not at all!

short consultancy we decided to cross the mountain below through the Mines of Moria, a mine complex that was long ago dug deep into the mountain. Alf somehow accepted this way only reluctantly and soon I found out why. The mines have definitely seen better times and appeared to be merely ruins rather than the expected glorious halls of stone. To imagine that this was once the realm of a great and wealthy king and his folk appeared to be difficult owing to the fact that the mines were completely abandoned and no treasuries or any riches at all reflected the light of our torches. Later on it appeared that these ruins weren’t just cold and dark but also mostly perilous since we had to cross narrow bridges and ran the risk to fall into the seemingly endless downs – which poor old Alf actually did, when parts of the ancient bridge broke away and he slipped. Ironically it was the last bridge before the exit. 

The Chamber of Mazarbul in the Mines of Moria.
In some respect you could still discern the former splendour!

In grieve we decided to change the travel route and seek shelter in Lothlórien, a mysterious forest at the foot of the mountain’s slope, to endure the night. We reached the border of the forest at dawn, all of us completely dirty and even more exhausted. Fortunately we met a group of guards that helped us find the way to Caras Galadhon, the capital of the wood realm. As we reached the city, my conception of pure beauty was once again redefined. The whole city was built on and around the trees or rather the tree trunks and seemed to float elegantly in the sky. The light appeared to be too pure to be true and yet it was all but impossible of thinking about any artificiality there. It felt as if there was a guarding spirit that pervaded every leave on every branch of every tree and fulfilled it with some sort of life, in other words, as if nature itself had its seeds there, in the heart of the wood – may that sound completely unbelievable, but I tell you, go there and you will feel the same magic. However, after three days my companionship decided to end the journey and separate in remembrance of Alf, which didn't really bother me altogether since the route intended to lead us to Mordor, an apparently very unpleasant land in the far east. To make matters worse, it appeared to be basically a dark, dreadful fortress and a volcano surrounded entirely by a high mountain chain - sounds totally charming. The prospect of crossing a dry and waste desert in order to reach an even more dry and waste desert didn't really appeal to me though.

Lothlórien by night - Impressing ain't it?!!

Thats why, after an extended stay of another two days, I packed my things and hiked southwards to a harbor at the great river Anduin, where I entered a ferry setting off in a westward direction until I reached Edoras wherefrom I took a plane back to Graz. All in all, this was both the most adventurous and awesome journey I have ever gone on in my life. 

But for the time being I preferred lying on a beach with a piña colada in my hand and a fancy straw hat on my head.