Austria: Breakfast Views in Vienna, Irish In Innsbruck

No mention or explanation of it in their journals. But for some still-unknown reason, when Tom and Jim left Munich, they rolled right past Salzburg and headed straight to Vienna.

Maybe they felt they were falling behind on their schedule. If they wanted to see everything on their list (which had already changed several times), they had about a month to get it all “seen.” They’d need to make some tough decisions about where to linger and when to keep moving.

Still, skipping Salzburg? Decades later, they can easily imagine the smug voices of the backpackers they met on the Af Chapman in Stockholm: “What? No Salzburg? Idiot Americans!” Tom and Jim now prefer to think of the decision as a “rookie error.”

Whatever the reason, five hours after leaving the lively sights and sounds (and beer gardens) of Munich, they found themselves in another world entirely. When they stepped outside its main hauptbahnhof (railroad station), Vienna’s broad boulevards and stately buildings seemed to sniff at their scraggly appearance and now battered backpacks. Behave yourselves, the surroundings seemed to warn. You’re in the capital of the (former) Austrian-Habsburg empire!

By this time in their travels, the friendship-saving strategy of splitting up for the day for solo exploring was well established. But in Vienna, time was tight (again, self-imposed), so they stuck together, taking in the Rathaus (City Hall), the Parliament, the Hofburg Palace, the Crown Jewels, the University, the Opera House, and the Burg Theater. They checked out the Lipizzaner Horse Arena (home of the famous Spanish Riding School), the Augarten Palace (home of the renowned Vienna Boys Choir), and, on their way to St. Stephanplatz (home of the eponymous cathedral, the tallest in Austria) walked past a building with a plaque stating that Amadeus Mozart once played there.

They weren’t done yet. They hopped on a tram to Schönbrunn, summer home to many of the Habsburg rulers, most notably Franz Joseph. Jim had sworn off tramping through yet another palace or castle, but he joined his friend for this one and was glad he did—maybe because Tom did not insist on touring all 1,441 rooms or because Tom managed to repress his characteristic urge to chat with every staff member in sight.

Their final stop was the Gloriette, an imposing, ornate neoclassical structure built so that the emperor had something pleasant to gaze upon while he breakfasted. The Gloriette returned the favor, offering an excellent view of the palace gardens, fountains, the palace itself, and, today, the Vienna skyline. The view was so enchanting that Franz Joseph eventually moved breakfast there.

The Gloriette at Schonbrunn. Cozy little breakfast nook for the Emperor.

Exhausted now, the boys headed to the station for the night train to Innsbruck. Night was creeping in early, and from the train, they could see illuminated road signs pointing in the directions of both Vienna and Budapest.

“Are we that close to Budapest?” Tom asked no one in particular. He pulled out his crumbling map to confirm. “Another reminder of how far we are from Ohio!”

Searching for Irish

The eight-hour overnight train to Innsbruck was crowded. Tom and Jim found themselves sharing a couchette with four other backpackers. Seasoned travelers, they showed the boys how to convert the two three-seaters into side-by-side bunks. Not nearly as comfy (or roomy) as a sleeper compartment, but at least they’d be able to stretch out for the night versus attempting to sleep upright.

It didn’t work for Jim. While he may have dozed off a bit now and then, he had trouble falling asleep with his back against the back of a complete stranger. And someone in that couchette must have had a generous helping of beans for dinner that night.

Jim’s grogginess disappeared, though, when they arrived in Innsbruck and stepped outside. It was snowing lightly, and several snow-capped mountain peaks rose up behind the buildings. Jim had never seen mountains in person, and this view stopped him in his tracks. Now THIS, he wrote in his journal, is it. (Whatever “it” was.)

One reason for stopping in Innsbruck: Notre Dame, their alma mater, had a study-abroad program there. Maybe the alums could score a meal and a couch for the night. The only problem? They didn’t know anyone in the program. They did, however, come up with a plan. Jim pulled on his ND T-shirt and kept his jacket open—despite the cold—as they wandered about the town.

Amazingly, this half-baked plan worked! They were spotted and later that day they were in the comfortable living quarters of several ND sophomores—Mary B, Kevin G, and Wim D, and several other coeds—enjoying a cooked meal of chicken with rice and cream of chicken while sharing stories about Notre Dame but mostly funny stories about the young American students trying to adjust to life abroad. Before retiring for the night, these generous young Domers took the boys to see the ski jump from the 1964 Olympics, still in use. 

It had been a long and exhausting 24 hours, and Tom and Jim slept soundly—thanks again to the warmth and generosity of the Fighting Irish. The next day, on the train en route to their next destination, they reflected on how nice it was to spend time with the students—especially the coeds. They wondered aloud if the trip would be different—maybe even better—if they had female travel companions for more than a single day or train ride.

Time would tell.

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That was Then. Now for the NOW: Reflections on the quick visit to Austria

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Into the Heart of Bavaria: Munich

Could travel get any better than Rothenburg ob der Tauber?

Tom and Jim didn’t think so. They were sure that nothing could top the warm, generous hospitality they’d received from Hermann and Linda. But they were eager to sample a different type—Bavarian hospitality in the beer halls of Munich.

First, though, a stop in Neu-Ulm, where they’d arranged to visit Captain William “Billy” Bugert, the older brother of one of Tom’s closest friends from Toledo. Billy was a Ranger stationed at the U.S. Army base.

 By this point, Tom and Jim’s beards were filling in—though still a bit scraggly—and their hair was getting longer and more unkept by the day. They felt more than a little out of place walking around the base, surrounded by clean-cut soldiers who snapped sharp salutes the moment they noticed Billy’s rank.

 “What if they don’t salute?” Tom asked.

“They’d better,” Billy said, with a smile that made Jim want to snap to attention and salute to avoid whatever consequences Billy would visit upon the un-saluting.

The captain’s quarters were modest: a bedroom, a kitchenette, a small dining area, and a living room just large enough to unroll two sleeping bags on the floor. Billy had studied German and managed to land this much-desired post, where he captained a squadron of paratroopers. Thanks to his fluency in German, he knew all the un-touristy places to eat (not that there are a lot of tourists in Neu-Ulm). He took Tom and Jim to his favorite local watering hole. There, he told stories of his many jumps, his soldiers, and his interactions with the locals who, he noted, considered America a ‘young nation.”

Tom and Jim swapped travel stories in return. The beer flowed, as did the stories and the laughter.

Until they got kicked out.

From Jim’s Journal:

On to München

Grateful as they were for Billy’s hospitality, Tom and Jim left Neu-Ulm the next morning—still a bit mystified that they’d managed to get tossed from a restaurant. That hadn’t happened in any of their Notre Dame haunts, or anywhere else, for that matter.

So they shook the dust from their boots and headed south to Munich, the heart of Bavaria.

Bombed heavily in WWII, Munich faced the same challenges that many German cities encountered in 1945: rebuilding their city—and their lives. They apparently did an excellent job with the former, for when Tom and Jim arrived and stepped outside the Munich Train Station, the surroundings looked clean, modern, with not a trace of the destruction visited upon the city just a little over three decades earlier. Tom was really into pedestrian zones, so Munich’s main, KarlsTor sent him into near delirium.

From Tom’s Journal: Karls Tor! The most extensive PEDESTRIAN ZONE in all of Europe. The wonderful people-focused walkway winds all the way through town, past the Frauenkirche with its two onion dome towers to the Glockenspiel in the Town Hall MarienPlatz beyond to its numerous urban parks featuring the Viktualien Beer Gardens and Markets and the English Garden (the largest urban park in the world) to the Isar River where one catches a glimpse of the Deutsches Museum, seemingly the entire Smithsonian, 27 major topics, all it seemed in one building!!!

They dropped their backpacks at the youth hostel, which had warning signs everywhere about a strict curfew and no exceptions to the no-entry rule once the gate was locked. Taking note of the closing time, Tom and Jim made their way to their main destination—Hofbrauhaus.

Octoberfest was over—it was already November—but the beer halls were packed. Tom knew from his Let’s Go Europe that the first Oktoberfest had been held in 1810 to celebrate the wedding of Mad Prince Ludwig. He and Jim grabbed seats at one of the long tables next to a group of young Germans who were celebrating something other than the memory of the Mad Prince—probably a soccer game. Soon, two ginormous mugs of beer (33.8 ounces) were placed in front of them by a buxom blond Bedienungin (server) in full dirndl, the traditional German dress: tight bodice with a deep neckline, puffy blouse, full skirt, and apron. The boys sat in awe as they watched the female servers lift several giant mugs and deliver them to the various tables without (much of) a spill. Fully dressed, yes, but somehow more revealing and enticing than anything Hooters would later dream up.

      Photo Copyright (C) David Sanger 

The table rotated with revelers, but the conversation was easy. Most were Americans and Canadians, so it didn’t take long for stories, laughter, and another round—or several—to keep the mood alive. This was undoubtedly the reason the boys found themselves standing in front of the hostel’s locked gate long after curfew. And why they rudely shook the gates and yelled continuously until someone—after a long lecture in German that didn’t sound like early morning prayers—took pity and let them in..

A short night’s sleep and a long hangover awaited them.

The boys spent three days and two nights in Munich, one of their longer stays in any one place thus far. They took in as much as they could:  The Olympic Village—built from scratch for the 1972 Olympics, just five years before Tom and Jim arrived, and scene of the horrific killing of the Israeli wrestling team and other athletes by Palestinian terrorists. Tom was impressed with how much Munich reminded him of the Scandinavian cities they had visited: pedestrian-only walkways throughout the Alt Stadt (Old Town), an emphasis on urban living for all its citizens, of all ages; no cars in the heart of the city, parking garages out of sight, and a new modern subway system—free—built for the Olympics.

They spent a lot of time in the Schwabing district, famous for its eateries, boutique stores, eclectic beer gardens, and large university student population. They met Carol and Eve from America and spent a good part of the day with them, enjoying the street musicians and even dancing to their music, careful not to step on the creations of the many sidewalk chalk artists.

They also met a young man, Dieter, a graduate student who spoke perfect English and who had not long ago traveled overland through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan to India, his goal.

Another Overland seed planted.   

Between the restaurants, museums, and beer halls, a financial assessment was needed. After some quick calculations, the boys discovered they were spending approximately $18 a day. Not bad, they reasoned, since the trip so far had been mostly in Northern (and more expensive) Europe. They had decided that once their Eurail passes expired, they would return to the U.K. and tour Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. For that, they figured they’d need about $360 in their pockets (or money belts). And for that to happen, they’d need to get their spending down to about $12 a day. This would not be possible if they spent much more time in Munich. It was time to hit the rails.

But not before one final stop.

Dachau

Just a twenty-minute ride on Munich’s S-Bahn takes you to the infamous Dachau Concentration Camp—without a doubt, one of the most somber moments of their journey, then and now.

What can be written or said about Dachau that hasn’t already been written or said? It won’t be attempted here, except to say that if you have an opportunity to visit Dachau, you must. No person with a conscience or sense of humanity can walk away and not fervently hope for “Never Again.”

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(More on the Overlanders’ reflections on Dachau in the accompanying video.)

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And now for the NOW: Reflections on Munich and Dachau

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Along the Rhine - The Traveler's Commandment

Another change of plans.

From Enkuizen, Tom and Jim had planned to head straight to Berlin. They wanted to see the Wall, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag, and Checkpoint Charlie—so much history. And though they would never have admitted it back then, they were also intrigued by the descriptions in Let’s Go Europe of some of Berlin’s more unusual nightclubs. According to the guidebook, each table had a phone. If someone at another table caught your eye, you could call that table to see if they were interested in a chat—or something more. (They later learned that these clubs dated back to the Weimar era, when both telephones and pneumatic tubes were the tools of flirtation.)

Unfortunately for their cabaret dreams, when they got to the Enkhuizen train station, they learned that their Eurail passes did not cover the train to Berlin. After checking their money belts and adding up their American Express travelers' checks, they agreed that the cost of a separate ticket was a budget-buster. Berlin was scratched. They needed to pivot.

Tom pulled out his already well-worn map of Europe, and he and Jim mapped out a new route. Because they had learned that the best-laid plans can go awry at any point, they only made plans for the next several days along the Rhine River, veering slightly off at a town they’d never heard of, but which was another “must see” mentioned by a backpacker in one of Amsterdam’s coffee shops.

The days were a blur, but here’s a condensed summary from both journals:

Cologne: As with Stockholm, the weather—cold and rainy—had a negative effect on their first impressions. While Jim marveled at the view of its famous Gothic cathedral as the train rounded a bend, its black discoloration from centuries of exposure to coal from factory chimneys, along with algae and moss, was not an inviting characteristic. Still, he and Tom ventured out in the rain to check it out. They learned that it took centuries to build, starting in 1248 and concluding in 1880. According to the guidebook, it was built to house the relics of the Three Wise Men. Big eye-roll from Jim.

Bonn: The main destination was the Beethoven House, founded in 1889. Tom’s journal indicated his new appreciation for the composer’s genius. Jim’s only comment in his journal was less enthusiastic—not with Beethoven, but with the venue. “You’d think they’d at least pipe in some of his music,” he wrote. 

Boppard.  Partly surrounded by medieval walls. As they disembarked from the train, Tom and Jim saw two backpackers sitting on their packs, one of whom was wearing a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap. They struck up a conversation and, Six-Degrees-of-Separation style, uncovered a mutual acquaintance of Jim’s. Jim didn’t record the name, but it was probably one of several friends who attended Xavier University in Cincinnati. A foreshadowing of meeting an ND grad in a bar in Cairo.

Bingen. From Jim’s journal: Beautiful view of the Rhine, crowded youth hostel. After settling in and joining the others, the game of “Where’ve you been?” begins. You win if you can name more places than the others. One-upmanship at its finest.

Bacharach: Tom and Jim met two more Americans—Barb from Erie, PA, and Linda from Upstate New York—who recommended a youth hostel that was also a medieval castle. With their pleasant and memorable stay in a castle at Einkhuzen in mind, Tom and Jim trudged up a steep hill to Schloss Stahleck. They were rewarded with another beautiful view of the Rhine. 

From Tom’s journal:  Barges moving in both directions seemingly one every five minutes; HO trains on both sides of the river; bicyclists and hikers enjoying the walking paths along the mighty Rhine. It turned out that the Hostel was closed, but both Tom and Jim’s journals report that they talked their way into staying the night. Still a mystery how they did that.

Rothenburg ob der Tauber. Though on the Tauber and not the Rhine, Rothenburg turned out to be one of the most memorable places the Overlanders visited—ever. With its medieval walls still intact, Rothenburg is one of only four towns in Germany that escaped invasions, regional wars, and two world wars with its city walls untouched. (The other three are Nördlingen, Dinkelsbühl, and Berching, all in Bavaria.) As Tom recounted (aloud!) from his Let’s Go guidebook, Rothenburg even escaped destruction during the 30 Years' War of Protestants and Catholics (1618-1648). One reason may have been the Catholic General’s innovative idea for avoiding a massacre. He said he would not invade the city if someone in the town could drink a gallon of beer in one gulp!  Rothenburg’s retired mayor appeared and accomplished that goal. Village saved, and what a village!  Bells towers, cobblestone alleyways, clocks, specialty shops (lots of Hummels)—Rothenburg is the quintessential Christmas card.

 

In fact, the town was already decked out with lights and Christmas decorations when the boys arrived on a late November night. And by late, we’re talking near midnight, well after closing time for the hostel they had planned to stay in that night. The town seemed deserted. The boys had no Plan B.

 

And then, as they would experience more than a few times during their travels, salvation came out of nowhere.

 

“Do you need help?” a deep voice called out. Heavy German accent.

 

The boys turned to see a burly blond man in a leather jacket approaching.

 

“Ah, oui…yes… I mean, ja,” Tom started, using his trademark broken-English diplomacy. “Um… una pensione? Know where is?”

 

“Nein. All closed.”

The boys looked around as if for a miracle hotel to pop up or a couple of benches to sleep on. Not a great prospect. It was cold.

 

“Follow me,” the man said, “My wife speaks English more.”

 

Out of options, the boys followed the man to a nearby parking lot. He led them to one of the few cars still in the lot. On the back windshield was a decal for Northern Arizona University. The passenger door opened, and a woman stepped out and spoke with the man in rapid German. She then turned to Tom and Jim and smiled.

“Why don’t you come with us?” she said in flawless English. “We live not far from here. If you need a place to stay, you can sleep on the floor of our family room.”

 

Did the boys pause to consider the possibility that they were being invited to a house far, far from this safe, Christmasy town by a husband-and-wife tag-team of sado-masochistic killers?

 

“Sounds great,” they said.

 

Hermann and Linda lived on a small dairy and soybeans farm just outside of Rothenburg. They had been in town to have dinner at a friends. Once they reached their cozy little home, they insisted on a bedtime snack for the boys, which turned out to be more of a complete dinner than a few crackers with cheese. While the two of them stuffed their faces and drank down several bottles of powerfully stout German beer, Hermann and Linda shared their story. The couple had met while Linda was touring Europe, fell in love, married, and went into the family farming business, taking over the business from Hermann’s father, Peter, and had been living on the farm ever since. Hermann’s face grew ruddier with every beer, and his laughter as Binks interrogated him about life on the farm.

 

Before retiring to the floor of the family room, Binks’s last question to Hermann was whether he and Linda often extended such hospitality to bedraggled backpackers.

 

“Nein,” Hermann replied. “But if a traveler needs help, you help.”

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 And now for the NOW. Reflections on "Along the Rhine - The Traveler's Commandment"

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