Ben Fogle: Austrian, lederhosen and happy families

A work appointment in Wales meant another lonely journey to join my wife and children in Austria. It is a sad normality that I arrive late and leave early on family trips.

The aircraft flew low over the Alps as we descended into the lush green hills and valleys around Salzburg. The city has become my second home since I married an Austrian.

Last year this was the scene of terrible sadness: it is where we lost our unborn son.

We didn’t think we could bear to return, but time heals.

Marina and the children met me at the airport dressed in the national costume of lederhosen and dirndls. “Daddy!” cried my children as they held me in their arms.

Those hugs. They are enough to forget all the cares in the world. I am blessed to have such a wonderful family.

Soon we were yomping across the mountains. Cows grazed on the grass, their bells rattling and echoing across the valley.

For much of the year, this land is covered with snow and ice, but now it can sigh. Wildflower meadows were pockmarked with colours.

Across the peaks, timber houses spilt flowers from their balconies. We walked on before reaching one of the mountain houses, or “alms”, for lunch.

One scene is etched in my mind – my children playing in the sunlight on Gaisberg, a mountain to the east. Here, the greens are greener, the blues that much richer.

Ludo and Iona are holding hands and dancing as the day turns to dusk.

There is only laughter and happiness. The image seems ethereal and other-worldly. It is the picture I see when I am in faraway lands and far-off places – when I am missing them.

It is my happy thought and my happy place.