I am sitting in a crowded mountain hut at more than two-thousand meters above the sea level. It is Saturday evening, and the people from the surrounding valleys have climbed up here for some good time. The Italian and Austrian borders with Slovenia are not far. Slovenes, Austrians, Italians, and Germans are all mixed together. There is much eating and drinking, and especially drinking. Clothes are drying above the ceramic-tile stove that is connected to the bustling kitchen. Young girls are distributing jugs of beer and steaming bowls of soup. In short, Breugel. I only wonder how we would smell if someone were to walk in from the outside, which is rather unlikely this late in the day.