Whatchawearing
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Europeanvaction1979/23.4
My father was in the USAF. We spent nearly nine years in Europe. We lived in Greece, Italy and England. Every few years my Grandparents would come to visit. When they did, we were off for a five week journey across Europe. My grandmother kept a journal of our travels. Recently while cleaning out a closet, my Mother came across the journals. The memories came flying back! I decided to share these journels with you. Each day I will post a chapter as she has written them. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I did.
The first Journal was in 1979. We lived in Hellenikon Greece.
Berchtesgaden
Hitler's Eagle Nest
Cuckoo Clock Factory
Cukoo Clock
Main Street of Berchtesgaden
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Day 23-Sunday, June 17
Without interruption, the rain maintained it's course of action during the night and we awoke feeling the icy chill which penetrated the tent making getting out from the warm sleeping bag and getting dressed a chattering experience. Our camp neighbors with the crying baby had packed earlier and left. We found out later that the child had been throwing up all night. I could visualize the turmoil the family must have had and sympathized with them.
The entire day was spent between the Park Hotel where we washed dirty clothes and the Lake Hotel where we relaxed in the lobby writing post cards and playing cards or scrabble. The Bavarian gift shop had a few articles that attracted our interest.
George offered to treat us to dinner in the dining room, an offer we accepted quickly before he could change his mind. The food was excellent and surprisingly inexpensive.
Reluctantly, we traded the warmth of the lobby's roaring log fire for the tent's bone chilling coldness. The weather forecast for tomorrow - more of the same, cold and rain. The night was icy.
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Day 24-Monday, June 18 1979
Hitler's Eagle Nest was an attraction we planned on seeing. This was our last day in this area and although the weather was unchanged, we made up our minds to brave the elements for sightseeing.
This was not to be, for when we attempted to buy tour tickets we were told that due to a heavy snow fall during the night, the mountain roads to the Eagle's Nest were closed. As an alternative, the clerk gave directions to a crystal and cuckoo clock factory in Berchtesgaden that we might be interested in.
The crystal cutting factory of Theodor Schober was housed in a four-storied Alpine-type house on a busy street. The inside was a beehive of cut crystal works of art. Two crowded rooms with illuminated showcases showed off the twinkling crystal, from tiny animals to large chandeliers, to perfection. In a back room we watched, fascinated, while a craftsman cut, etched and polished a piece he was working on making it look so simple and easy.
No sooner had we gone in the Bachmaier and Klemmer Cuckoo Clock Factory, we were told it was closing for their lunch hour. It was just as well, because, judging from the price list, I doubt if we could have afforded the clocks.
The main street of Berchtesgaden was a parade of umbrellas carried by tourists who were intent on catching pneumonia or spending money, perhaps both. And we were among them. Aimlessly, we roamed in and out of shops, then entered a 'quick-order' lunch stand finding the food so-so. But the bakery we found shortly thereafter had delicious goodies which we took with us and ate on a small back alleyway across from a cemetery. The rain had subsided to a few drops giving us false hopes that it was ending.
Our attention was drawn like a magnet to a Franciscan Church standing at the end of the street. We were more impressed with the beauty of this interior than the more ornate edifices we had seen in Rome. The church seemed to impart a quiet, prayful serenity that was missing in the larger Italian churches.
The continuing rain made it impossible to cook outdoors. Since our funds
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had been stretched with hotel dining the past two nights, we paraded to the hotel laundry, looking and feeling like a caravan of gypsies on the move. We carried everything- umbrellas, rain gear, soiled clothes, damp sleeping bags, scrabble board, camp stove, dishes, pots, utensils, and lawn chairs - into the large warm laundry room and set up housekeeping. The Boileau Syndrome was at work. While clothes washed, we played scrabble; while the clothes dried, we played scrabble. And while Al concocted a mouth-watering pot of chili, we played scrabble, stopping just long enough to eat. But, we were happy with eat other's companionship and out of the cold and wet so it didn't matter that we were looked upon as a very strange family by the rest of the clothes-washing campers.
A display of disco lights and music accompanied by several steins of beer in the Hotel Lounge consumed our time during the evening hours; the boys found the game room and pin ball machines to their liking.
A religious group had come in the campgrounds earlier that day. Shortly after we settled snugly in our freshly dried sleeping bags, we heard a commotion outside the tent. A child crying, and voices calling for help, made Al slip quickly outdoors to see what aid he could render. Jan and I were somewhat slower, but we found a young black woman lying in a pool of muddy water. She was gasping for breath and seemed to be in a faint. We provided on of our newly washed blankets for her to rest on while Al advised the do-gooders to push back. The girl finally came around. With the aid of her friends, she was able to walk back to their bus chanting, "Praise the Lord." She had had a religious experience and been overcome by the Holy Spirit - we had been overcome by cold bodies and an extremely dirty, muddy blanket.
