Austria, A Place to Sing, A Place to Dance

It was Sunday. Frank had been waiting with GREAT anticipation, for this part of the trip and the chance to see old friends. He found a pension in Dornbirn where we could stay. The owner even came to the station to pick up our bags. I wasn't feeling well. My husband thought it was exhaustion. He served me breakfast in bed before he left on foot to find the branch house. It wasn't until our sweet pension friend drove him around that Frank found where services were being held. He was just in time for priesthood meeting.

One of the members changed some money for us since we had only Swiss money. Frank said our lunch of schnitzel and mushrooms was delicious. Austria was known for good food, rich and substantial, a place where snacking was embraced and more like a meal and deserts were irresistible. I could not eat.

At the sacrament meeting, I didn't understand a word. I had tried to learn a little of the language before we left home but was pretty limited in what I could say--hello, goodbye, thank you--three or four words was about the extent of my repertoire  The entire congregation totaled maybe 20 people. There was one deacon to pass the sacrament. A sister, baptized one week before, opened the meeting with prayer, one she had written, then read. Family Griells insisted we go home with them after the meeting. They called a taxi for us. They rode their bikes. The taxi stopped to pick up two other people, then went to the other side of town to let one of those out, and back to the branch area to let another one out, and finally, the driver took us where we'd asked to go. We whispered that he must have learned to drive in Italy! This family lived simply, was warm and friendly and luckily for me, they spoke some English!

Buildings looked a bit like candy land cottages plucked from the pages of a child's story book, with white, lacy, 'Gingerbread' TRIM and lots of flowers. Many of the girls wore Dirndls, boys wore Lederhosen. Some adults wore traditional, native dress. It was nice to be with regular people and off the tourist track.

By the time we arrived in Innsbruck, I was really sick. We found a hotel easily. Frank had recovered from our bout with food poisoning in Zurich, but I had not and was so glad to be off the train. Frank went to check on members for his brother, John, who had also served a mission in the area.  

Breakfast the next morning, at a bar, was milk and semoles with shinken (rolls with prosciutto). Our walk around the city seemed proof enough to me that what I'd heard said must be true, that Innsbruck was the most beautiful spot in all of Austria, steeped in history with unique buildings and always when you looked up, there were those wondrous mountains, The Alps, all around. Even sick, it was easy to appreciate the beauty of it all.  My husband's plan placed us in Wolfsberg, next, but a phone call telling him that the folks he wanted to see there weren't at home meant we'd go, instead, to St. Polten.

He telegraphed the Family Pasching that we were coming and we caught the next train. We passed through Salzburg--home of the "Sound of Music" story--and again said that this must surely be the MOST beautiful scenery we'd ever seen, as ski resorts, waterfalls, greenery everywhere, and farmers in their fields cutting hay by hand passed by our train windows. We changed trains somewhere along the line and instead of walking for what seemed like it would be miles to get to our first-class car, we had climbed on a second-class car to avoid that long walk. A strange looking fellow sat across from us and kept to himself for awhile, drinking his beer. Then he started showing signs of the alcohol, talking and rambling on to no one in particular. He got pretty wobbly and finally picked up the paper cup still half full of drink and tossed it out the window. The window was closed! The fellow sitting directly across really moved fast and didn't get much on him. The rest of us were not so lucky. We really STUNK the rest of the way.

Pasching's daughter, Marianne, met us at the station and had a taxi waiting. Sister Pasching hadn't expected us until Sunday so when we arrived early, on Tuesday, she was all involved in painting a room for us. Imagine, painting and rearranging a room in her home just for our visit of a few days! How wonderful it was to be in a clean, fresh room, away from the hotel and train smells. Locals rented garden plots in forested areas away from their homes. It was a relaxing time admiring the many vegetable, fruit, and flower varieties they were growing. 

Somewhere in our travels, I had found a Reader Digest magazine printed in English and bought it. Now, as my husband visited with his friends and it got to be just too cumbersome to translate every conversation to English, I had something to read. I read it cover to cover many times! Sometimes, I tried to join the group and eat what was being served but in about 15 minutes, I had to excuse myself. That became a bit of a joke, though in a kind way, when someone seated 'round the table would check their watch, then nod, as I headed to the bathroom to throw up. There were also nodding heads and knowing smiles and questions directed at Frank. He translated, "They want to know if you're pregnant." Among the family's book collection, Frank found American Short Stories, so one evening, he READ to me. It was no fun to be sick so far away from home. It was somehow comforting, and sweet to have him read to me. By Friday, I was spending most of my time in bed. Frank took our laundry to a laundromat, a new experience for him! He said the women looked at him and chuckled but he got the job done.

Paschings did not have running water at home. At the bath house--my FIRST experience of this kind--you paid your money, stepped into a stall and soaped up before turning on the water, then rinsed down, quickly, because the water was on a timed meter. Having a shower felt so refreshing that I went through the whole process of soaping up and rinsing off a second time, fortunately beating the clock before my water turned off!

Frank had been close to this family so there was some catching up for him to do. Marianne, a new bride of one month, married a man talented in working with wood. A proud Sister Pasching showed us many of his finished projects. She then moved on to show us the wardrobe Marianne--a skilled seamstress--had created. All of it. The slide show came next, of the wedding, trips to Yugoslavia and Salzburg. They still had the projector Frank had given the family before he left the area. From my notes, "Frank feels at home here; Even eats all the strange food and acts like he likes it!"  

Sister Pasching and I walked to Sunday School, mostly in silence, unable to communicate with each other in words but with hand gestures and facial expressions, we both agreed that the wind was making a mess of our hair. It was a different experience sitting through the meeting, not knowing what was being said. While I relaxed, Frank spent his afternoon biking all over, seeing old friends. He was asked to speak at the evening Sacrament meeting and did very well, by the reactions of the congregation. He sounded good to me, too, when I got the translation. It was a great time for him and for the members, seeing each other again.

It was a forty-minute train ride to Vienna to stay with Sister Hasiebers. Another wild taxi ride--did all cabbies learn their craft at the same driving school--then a hike up what must have been three miles of stairs to reach her apartment. Frank sure got his exercise living there, as a missionary. She fixed one of his favorites, Marillenknoedel, remembering how much he loved those apricot dumplings, rolled in fine bread crumbs, drizzled with melted butter and sprinkled with sugar. Then, giving us her key, she was off to stay with her sister, giving up her apartment to us for however long we could stay in Vienna! 

We spent the late afternoon into evening in downtown. I fell immediately and thoroughly in LOVE with Wien. I'd heard about the city not only from my husband but also, from his Czech mother, Jane, whose family had fled to Vienna from Czechoslovakia in her youth. We walked through the gardens of the old winter palace, went to the famous Vienna Opera House, St. Steven's Cathedral, the Parliament building, the Rathaus and stayed a bit longer at The Votive Church where Frank's grandparents--Jane's parents--had been married. We circled the entire old city, following the Ring. Stadtpark was all lit up with tiny, twinkling white lights, come evening, as was the statue to honor Strauss. An orchestra was set up in the park, playing his famous waltzes. People, locals and tourists, stopped to listen. Some took a few waltz steps and some twirls before moving on. It was almost impossible not to do so, the mood captivating and romantic. Close by, a fountain flowed, forming different patterns, stirring occasional squawks from floating ducks when the water changed directions, having ruffled a few feathers. Along the Ring, a weather tower told the time for cities all over the world, and also, the temperatures and date--day, month, year--with the weather forecast, a rundown of what to wear, plus distances to those cities from the location of the tower. It was fascinating! 

Schonbrunn, a 1,441 roomed palace, once the summer residence of Austrian Royalty, was a place of meticulously tended gardens, fountains, and paths lined in trees with statues placed among trees cut out and sculpted to fit the figures, as an alcove would be. While I did make it all the way through the lengthy tour of the inside of that spectacular palace, as elaborate, ornate, fabulous and as much a must-see as one can imagine, when I ran out of waste receptacles and bathrooms available to the public, I spent time retreating to the grounds and those trees where I could throw up somewhat discretely, or so I hoped. We also walked through the adjoining zoo--the world's oldest--then found American food but no baked potato. I'd had dreams about baked potatoes, sure that if I could find one and eat it, my constant nausea would be cured. So far, I hadn't been blessed to find a baked potato anywhere. Heating an oven to bake was too expensive for most households. It was customary to visit a corner bakery, daily, for baked goods. But those bakers didn't bake potatoes in their ovens, either.

The Rathaus concert was thrilling. To hear the Vienna Philharmonic--one of the best in the world--playing within the open air square of the building was engaging...captivating. I could see the sky but the surrounding walls made for perfect acoustics. To be in Vienna, the City of MUSIC, where prodigies like Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms and others had once studied, was sublime. I thought, if we returned to Europe one day, as Frank had said we would, surely we would return to Vienna.

When my husband lived in Austria, he could not afford the expense of taking photos. Returning, he was anxious to capture as much as possible on film. One night, he left me sitting on a bench near the Ring while he rode all the way around, jumping off and on the train or tram, here and there, capturing the beauty of the city lit up at night. An old fellow sat down on the same bench. He spoke a few words of English. After sitting for a time, he asked me if I was alone. When I said yes, he scolded a bit, saying that one so young as I, should not be sitting there alone. I don't think he intended to sit more than a short time to rest, but when the husband I'd told him would be along any minute didn't show up, the clock now ticking past midnight, this old fellow did not move from his spot on the bench. More than once, he shook his head a bit, and quietly repeated what he'd said. I don't remember giving much thought to sitting there alone, late at night or being nervous about being there, so taken was I by the lights, the sounds, everything about the city. I had felt much better that day but didn't have energy enough to keep up with Frank in his quest for night photos. The old gentleman continued to sit with me until, at last, my husband returned. Perhaps a guardian angel? Certainly an earthly ANGEL, on that night, bless his heart.

Catching trains, again, this time to Zeltweg, we made the change needed in order to go to Wolfsberg. This train ride was one-of-a-kind, slow moving and with no uniformed officials, just a very laid back engineer in the drivers seat and a conductor, both dressed in everyday sport clothes, the conductor wearing a red hat. The train stopped at every cow crossing. If the engineer needed a drink of water or saw someone along the way to chat with, the train stopped and he got off to do just that. The guy in the red hat would sometimes walk to the front end of the train and find the driver's seat empty, then leave the train, himself, to find the engineer. At one point, the engineer asked his passengers if anyone would like to drive the train!

Frank had lived with the Family Egger, described by my husband as typically Austrian and very nice. They were very kind to us during our brief stay with them. The grandfather of the household fretted and showed concern for me. I was still having little luck keeping much food down.  (At journey's end, I'd lost about 20 lbs.)

We were nearing the end of our journey and back on a train, returning to Paris. We'd been traveling for those final few days with nothing but the clothes we were wearing--washed out and hung to dry most every night, slept in, on occasion--and a toothbrush. I had on a sage green, checked cotton, short-sleeve, a-line-skirted dress and Frank, a simple, short-sleeved, cotton shirt and long, casual pants. The new shoes we started out with now had holes in the toes and soles. I don't remember but I assume Frank was clean-shaven. He hadn't yet begun his mustache-beard phase, I don't think, but without a hair cut in more than two months, both of us were looking pretty SHAGGY. [I'm wondering why I hadn't taken a pair of scissors and a razor with me, since I cut his hair, on a regular basis at home and could have done my own, as well.] To make the last days of our travel through Austria a little easier, first, we bought the largest bar of chocolate I'd ever seen--filled the entire length and width of one suitcase--for Bill, Frank's dad and a large tube or two of Senf, a mustard for Jane, something she loved and missed having in the States, and added those gifts to one of the suitcases. Then we checked our luggage at a train station, assured that our bags would be at the dock at LeHarve, in France, when we arrived.