The opaque night and precarious drive up the one-lane mountain road left my two friends and me laughing and joking anxiously.
Our headlights shone only to the next drop-off zag, and the Kinkade-view of the town below didn't exactly comfort us, since guardrails apparently weren't deemed necessary. Plus we had no idea who or what to expect at the hostel.
But after a re-routing phone call with Chrissy, the owner, we found our stay, a balconied, traditional Alpine home situated on the side of the mountain.
The place and company were a tonic. The cuddle-up, organic-meets-lodge vibe of the hostel, which doubles as Chrissy and her husband's home, called for lots of wine and hot tea, either at the heavy wooden kitchen table or porch nook overlooking the flower-boxes, home-made gate, and valleys and mountains beyond.
Rest comes early and rising does too, here. Everything was marked by quiet simplicity and kindness.
"If you're looking for crazy nights, that's not us," Chrissy (who can't be over age 25) confirmed.
Chrissy gave us a mountain map, and we picnicked and hiked through steep forest paths and hillsides.
Next day my friends headed back to homebase Munich, but I was so attached that I stayed an extra night, writing, taking pictures, drinking tea and watching the late-summer sunset over the surrounding peaks.
Chrissy offered to drive me down the mountain the next afternoon to the train station, and thus out of the sweet, surreal haze of far-awayness.