On the thirteenth day of January ’26, we came to Jufenalm.

High above Maria Alm, where the air feels different — lighter, sharper — we found a place that made everything else slow down. Jufenalm stands quietly on the mountain, built from wood and glass, wrapped in soft textiles and warm light. Boho details, earthy tones, fireplaces, views in every direction. The kind of aesthetic you never get tired of looking at.

In front of us stretched the powerful silhouette of Hochkönig and the sharp outline of Mitterhorn. In January, everything was covered in snow — endless white with blue shadows. The mountain range was in front of us, quiet and monumental. Behind us, the sun was slowly disappearing. The last pink shades touched Hochkönig gently, just for a moment, before the sun slipped behind the hill at our backs. For a few minutes, everything turned soft. Almost unreal.

The silence wasn’t broken by voices, but by the distant sound of sledges sliding over snow — the trail that starts right there and leads all the way down to Maria Alm. That soft, rhythmic sound carried through the cold air and made the whole place feel alive.

And then the infinity pool. The most beautiful — and the biggest one we’ve ever been in. Warm water, snowy edges, steam rising into the freezing January air. We swam while the sky was turning pastel and gold, watching the mountains in front of us slowly lose their sharpness as the light faded. My hair was slightly frozen at the ends. My cheeks warm from the water. If I close my eyes now, I can still feel that exact contrast — hot and cold at the same time.

The next morning we came down for breakfast and could barely see anything outside. Thick fog covered every peak around us. We sat down, filled our table with fresh bread, eggs, cheese, croissants, coffee… and while we were carrying plates back and forth, the fog slowly started to lift. Almost like it was waiting for us. Within minutes, the mountains appeared in front of the window next to our table — clear, proud, endless. We just looked at each other and laughed. Timing like that cannot be planned.

There are deer walking quietly near the property. Other animals too. You see them from the windows, from the terrace, sometimes even on your way back from an evening walk. Nothing feels staged. Nature is simply there, moving around you.

And that’s when we made a promise — that we would come back at least once in every season. To see it in spring when everything turns green. In summer with long golden evenings. In autumn when the forests burn in warm tones. Because this is the kind of place where you could stay twenty days and still feel like you need more time.

On the thirteenth day of January ’26, we came to Jufenalm.

And somehow, we already knew we would return.