CHAPTER 16: Welcome to the Fairytale
A LITTLE TIME OUT
Against the odds, we landed the last available parking spot in the P1 lot. Lukas muttered something about divine intervention. I said nothing because I was still trying to reverse into it without gouging a Hungarian license plate or scraping the bumper of a French family’s Renault that looked like it had never lost a fight.
We’d made it to Hallstatt, and apparently, so had every other person on Earth.
From the lot, we started walking toward our Airbnb — a pink-painted gingerbread fantasy tucked halfway up the village like someone tried to hide a dollhouse on the edge of a mountain. We didn’t rush. You can’t rush in Hallstatt. The streets are cobblestone and crowded, and every five feet someone stops to photograph a swan, a window box, or a cloud formation that “looks like a bunny if you squint and ignore physics.”
Shops along the way were full of carved wooden hearts, overpriced trinkets, and salt-themed everything. A teenager in front of us was eating a chocolate-covered something on a stick while their parents argued in Dutch. A little boy with a plastic sword screamed with joy as a swan hissed at him. It was chaos. But somehow, it was perfect.
We took our time winding through the lakeside buzz, and eventually we reached the apartment. Technically, it’s called Little Time Out, part of the Historic Lakeview Apartments series.
Booking reviews described it as “romantic,” “idyllic,” “the perfect retreat,” and my personal favorite: “You’ll cry when you leave.” One couple said it was “worth it just for the silence,” which is bold, given the density of selfie-stick collisions per square meter.
Inside? Slanted ceilings, clean floors, a bed that felt like it had survived two world wars and still had the backbone of a soldier. The place smelled faintly of wood polish and optimism. The balcony didn’t offer a full lake view, but if you leaned out far enough — just past the gutter, around the corner of the roofline, and held your breath — you could catch a sliver of glassy water glowing in the midday sun. It was enough.
And here’s the thing: for all the tourist madness outside, once we were in, it felt like the town folded up behind us. Quiet. Steady. We dropped our bags, opened the windows, and just breathed. Somewhere down below, a kid was still yelling. A swan still hissing. And I couldn’t stop smiling.
The apartment had the kind of character you don’t find in hotels: weird corners, ancient doorknobs, and a sense that you’d walked into someone’s old, beloved memory. And despite the crowds and the chaos and the certainty that we’d overpaid, there was a moment — standing barefoot on creaky wood, watching Lukas try to figure out the shower — when I thought, I could stay here forever.
But we couldn’t. Because this wasn’t the end of the journey. It was only the next chapter.
That is key: one must stay the night in fairytale Hallstatt, when the daytrippers leave...you found quite a haven it seems. So glad!
Lucky you- loved all those villages and mountain crevices around Salzburg. A wonderland.
Lots of people but not ‘crowded’ if you time it right. There’s windows that open (not sealed), and a sense of safeness we miss here. Take the tram up the mountain, see the waters below. You will remember it.