I WOULD NEVER HAVE PREDICTED that a 5-mile trek in shin-high snow, through the Spullerwald forest, over rivers and past ice-fringed firs, would be a highlight of my trip to the Austrian village of Lech. But when a whiteout storm axed the day’s ski program, that’s what I did: hiked to Älpele—one of several Alpine huts in the region reachable by foot, snowmobile, skis, or horse-drawn carriage—for a skillet of Tiroler gröstl, a bacon, onion, and potato fry-up, washed down with crisp, cold Grüner Veltliner. That lunch, in a fire-warmed, 300-year-old room in the shadow of the Rüfikopf mountain, crystallized what had drawn me to the Austrian Alps.
There are no chain hotels, branded pop-ups, celebrity chef concept restaurants, or lookalike boutiques here. With its medieval onion-domed church, the town…
