Mauterndorf Castle

Stand still for a moment and listen. Up here, the air of the Lungau is thin and clean, and sounds travel a long way. You may hear a cowbell somewhere on the slopes, or the low rumble of traffic on the valley road. Under your feet the ground rises toward pale stone walls and a tall keep. The castle sits on a rocky spur above the village, and it has watched this road for many centuries.

The road is the reason the castle exists. The name Mauterndorf carries the old German word Maut, which means toll. This was a toll village. Travellers, merchants and pack animals came down from the high Tauern pass, the mountain crossing between the north and the south of the Alps. Here they paid to continue. Salt, wine, iron and cloth all moved along this route, and every load was a chance to collect a fee.

The importance of this route is very old. In Roman times a road already crossed these mountains, linking the Danube lands with the Adriatic world. Archaeologists have found Roman traces in the Lungau basin, and a Roman road station stood not far from here. So when you look at the castle, imagine a much older line of travel running through the valley below. The stone walls came later. The traffic came first.

For most of its history, Mauterndorf belonged to the Church of Salzburg. The Archbishops of Salzburg were not only spiritual leaders. They were also powerful territorial rulers, with their own lands, soldiers and tax collectors. The castle was built in the high Middle Ages to guard the toll station and to show who controlled the road. A visiting merchant would look up at these walls and understand at once whose permission he needed.

The castle you see today grew in stages. Around the year 1500, Archbishop Leonhard von Keutschach rebuilt and enlarged it. He was a ruler who loved to mark his buildings. His coat of arms shows a turnip — yes, a simple root vegetable. Look for it carved in stone or painted on walls as you explore. The same turnip appears on buildings across the Salzburg region, a small and slightly surprising signature of one determined archbishop.

Walk into the courtyard and notice how the space closes around you. Thick walls, small windows and steep roofs are all built for this climate. The Lungau is a high basin, and Austrians know it as one of the coldest corners of the country. Winters here are long and bright. Snow can lie on the roofs for months. The builders did not design for elegance first. They designed for defence, for storage and for survival through a hard mountain winter.

Inside, one of the quiet treasures is the castle chapel. Many visitors walk past it too quickly. Step in and let your eyes adjust to the softer light. Medieval wall paintings cover parts of the walls, with figures and colours that have survived for centuries. The chapel also holds a Gothic altarpiece. Gothic here means the late medieval style of pointed forms, gilded carving and painted saints. It is a calm room inside a fortress built for control.

Now comes a chapter that surprises many people. By the late nineteenth century the castle had fallen into poor condition. A wealthy army doctor, Hermann von Epenstein, bought it and restored it. He wanted a romantic medieval home, and he rebuilt rooms in a historical style. Some of what looks medieval today is in fact this later restoration. That is not a trick. It is simply another layer in the long life of the building.

Epenstein was the godfather of a boy named Hermann Göring. The young Göring spent part of his childhood here, and the castle later passed into his hands. Göring became one of the leading figures of the Nazi regime. It is an uncomfortable connection, and the castle does not hide it. Standing in these rooms, you can think about how a single building can carry very different memories — tolls and prayers, mountain winters and the shadows of the twentieth century.

After the Second World War, the castle changed course again. In the later twentieth century the state of Salzburg acquired it, and it was opened to the public. Today it serves as a museum and a cultural venue. Exhibitions explore life in the Middle Ages and the history of the Lungau region. Concerts, markets and festivals use the courtyard. The walls that once kept people out now invite them in.

If you climb the keep, take your time on the stairs. The view from the top shows you the logic of this place. You see the valley floor, the village roofs, and the road curving toward the mountains. You can follow the route travellers took for centuries. From up here the toll station makes perfect sense. Nobody could pass through this valley without being seen from these windows.

The village below has its own traditions. Locals in the Lungau keep an old custom of the Samson procession. A towering figure of the biblical strongman Samson is carried through the streets on certain festival days, swaying above the crowd. Mauterndorf is one of the villages with its own Samson. If you are lucky enough to visit during a festival, you will see how this valley still marks its year with old rituals.

Before you leave, stand once more in the courtyard. Touch the cool stone if you can. Look up at the small windows and the steep roof lines against the sky. Then walk slowly back down toward the village. As you go, notice the road again — the same line through the valley that gave this castle its purpose. Travellers once paid to pass this way. Today you pass freely, carrying the story with you.