Here’s a part of the French seaside town Les Sables d’Olonne off the coast of the Bay of Biscay. Les Sables d’Olonne itself reminds me a little of last winter’s digs in Costa de Caparica, south of the Portuguese capital, Lisbon. Same architectural mismatch (beautiful old residential houses next to horrifically ugly apartment buildings), stunning beaches with a surf-friendly beach break, and an all-around, laid-back, off-season vibe.

This is where our Nantes-Tours-Les Sables d’Olonne guide will conclude and also where my cousin Per’s daughter Charlotte will be married a couple of hours after this sentence was completed.

As a young woman, my aunt Lillemor spent significant time in the Loire Valley and I remember her often reminiscing about all the good food and wine she enjoyed during her visits. While not top-tier, experiencing the region has nevertheless been on my list for a long time.

The image of the castle above, Douves du Château des Ducs à Nantes, was captured early yesterday morning. After a petit déjeuner, Charlotte and I took the midday train to the charming and millennia-old city of Tours.

While the administrative capital of the Loire Valley – a World Heritage Site – is Orléans (New Orleans in Louisiana originally got its name from the French nobleman, the Duke of Orléans), Tours is the region’s largest city and its financial hub.

Today, we’ll be biking around the valley to photograph and film for a forthcoming guide about how to best enjoy the Loire Valley.

We’ve had an absolutely terrific week in Bad Gastein with plenty of fresh, alpine air, long, health-promoting hikes in breathtaking scenery, and mostly really, really splendid, mostly low-carb dining experiences. From past visits to the country, I knew that Austrian chefs are masterful at classic dishes like Tafelspitz, Käsespätzle, Tiroler Gröstl, and Wiener Schnitzel. So I knew my expectations were going to be easily met as we navigated the restaurant scene in Bad Gastein.

And while often brusque and somewhat intransigent, especially the older generation (i.e. my age), most “Gasteiners” we interacted with in the hospitality industry were kind and friendly enough. I think the language barrier is still a huge culprit. Fortunately, I know a few courteous phrases in German (and some really, really naughty ones, too), and saying a few kind words was usually all it took to warm up the locals. Like everywhere else, younger Austrians live a lot of their lives online, so speaking English is easier and more comforable for them.

There is also a significant amount of immigrants living and working in the Gastein valley. Mostly from bordering countries like Slovenia, Slovakia, and Hungary. We met only a few Swedes working here. This was a bit surprising, considering how popular a destination Bad Gastein is in Sweden. I’m sure there are more seasonal workers from Sweden during the winter.

Just for fun, we summed up our stats from the week’s excursions and came up with the following rundown, at least according to Apple’s Health app:

• Floors climbed: 370, the equivalent of walking up to the top of the Empire State Building more than 3 times or the Turning Torso almost 7 times.

• Distance walked: 92 km/52 miles

It was 42 years ago since I last visited Bad Gastein and the tiny village was my very first experience skiing in the Alps. If I wait another 42 years, I’ll be 101 years old and probably way too timeworn to trek the hills or ride the Gastein valley’s many scenic trails. Certainly not as energetically as we did this past week. But if I do have the privilege of becoming a Centenarian, I wouldn’t mind returning.

Charlotte took the photo above during my walk along Mount Stubnerkogel’s suspension bridge.

Sure, this fluffy couple is as cute as can be. That’s what we thought too, at first. But behind “Billy” and “Bully’s” enchanting curls, there was also unbridled rage and immoderate anger. A murderous meanness that I have never seen any sheep possess. I think Beelzebub himself would have been impressed by their raw anger.

Like many before us, we encountered these curly animals while attempting to peacefully descend down the mountain Graukogel, above Bad Gastein, shortly after lunch today. And it was just seconds after a couple of cyclists rode past us at a crazy fast speed, that we realized how easy it was to end up on Billy and Bully’s “hit list”. Even though the bikes passed us at great speed, the apparently super easily provoked Valais Blacknose sheep were still not far behind them. In fact, Charlotte and I had never seen sheep run so damn fast! And it was when Billy and Bully finally gave up pursuing the speeding two-wheelers, that they seemed to quickly realize that we were at least as interesting as prey, and not just a mere consolation prize.

After loudly bumping heads and horns two or, three times, as if to show off how angry and determined they really were, both Billy and Bully turned their intense, angry attention to our direction and began closing the distance between us. Somewhat tentatively at first, but soon with more determined, fearless steps.

Aware of the slightly bizarre yet precarious situation, and at the same time quite drained after a long day of hiking at fairly high altitudes, we chose to evacuate our path and fall back ten, twelve feet into a dark, deep ravine. Our naive hope was, of course, that the two evil sheep would leave us alone and move on to new barbarities. Instead, first Billy and then Bully began descending upon us, like predators, with the obvious realization that the prey before them was ripe and ready to be felled.

In that situation, we had but two options. Either take our chances with a full frontal confrontation using all available weaponry; sticks, rocks, and, in a worst-case scenario, my hefty camera bag. Or, to admit our defeat and simply climb back up the mountain. After a lightning-quick conference, all the while Billy and Bully approached us in the ravine, we chose the most rational: retreat.

Luckily the sheep quickly picked up a distracting scent and finally left us to our fate. Groaning and puffing, we walked back up the mountain, relieved but sweaty all over.

We warned people who were heading down the path about the angry sheep and we sincerely hope that it did not end badly for them.
I guess I won’t be counting sheep when I have trouble falling asleep …

In the winter of 1979, after having lived in Sweden for just over a year, I joined a hundred or so fellow students from my high school on a long train trip to the ancient village of Bad Gastein in the Austrian alps.

I’ve subsequently been to several other ski resorts across Europe and even a couple in the US. But it was here in Bad Gastein where I had my very first alpine experience. So, after 43 years, I’ve finally returned to the Bad Gastein Valley for a week of walks, crisp, fresh air and to once again appreciate the sheer beauty the majestic scenery here provides..

The above view is what Charlotte and I woke up to early this morning.