Oh, Fahrvergnuegen!!

April 24, 2010

At 3:30 a.m., I called it quits and went to bed.  Packing up and cleaning out the apartment felt just like moving.  Six weeks isn’t terribly long, but is apparently time enough to settle in to all the drawers, closets, nooks and crannies.  We were up a few short hours later, I dressed and fed the kids omelets (using up eggs, cheese and ham still in the fridge!), and then we headed off on the U3 to the car rental office, with a quick stop for a photo outside the Hofer grocery store on the way.   

I had reserved a VW Golf Wagon.  I had checked out the specs, and was confident that the cargo space would be (barely) sufficient for our needs.  I had even dragged the kids out to the rental site a couple of days earlier just to confirm the reservation and verify the availability of the car I wanted (the volcanic ash/flight situation is wreaking havoc with train, bus and car rental availability).   After filling out the paperwork, I was led to my car:  a very nice-looking Hyundai wagon.  Apparently, they had given away my VW just that morning and saved me the “better” car.  What?!  The very well-meaning young man insisted that the cars were exactly the same, only the Hyundai was newer.  I tried to explain concepts like “Fahrvergnuegen” and engine power… but realized I was just sounding like an ungrateful car snob, so I abruptly stopped my speech, genuinely thanked him for his help and drove away.  

We got back from renting the car just in time to greet my landlord, Wolfgang, who was waiting for us in our apartment.  He graciously offered to assist us with our luggage and then literally broke out into a sweat when he realized how many bags we had to fit into our rental car.  He has clearly never seen how many clowns can fit into a mini-compact.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t nervous; I knew they all HAD to fit.  I had no backup plan.  My girls sacrificed some of their back seat space, and I sacrificed most of the view out the rear window, and away we went.  As a farewell gesture, a man stood across the street, unzipped, and in plain view, relieved himself on a tree.   He must not have had a 50 Euro cent piece to spare.  (Nope -- I don't have a picture.  :-)  )

Cade was my navigator, with some help from a portable GPS system we borrowed from my parents in Geneva.  I was grateful to get out of Vienna, with its many streetcars and buses complicating the roadway driving rules and increasing my chances of needing my collision damage waiver insurance.  Once we hit the open roads, I was happy to be behind the wheel of a car again after a 7-week hiatus, and it was a gorgeous drive.  We did make a few stops along the way, including an uplanned visit to Melk to find a WC for Regan (it was free (!), courtesy of the local church, so I made everyone take a potty break).  Even aside from the free restroom usage it was a rewarding visit, complete with a quick tour of Stift Melk (the stunning and massive baroque abbey built in the early 1700's) and ornate frescoed church.  

It was interesting to learn that during World War II, Melk was the site of a subcamp to the Mauthausen concentration camp, although little evidence of the site remains.  A short drive from Melk brought us to the former concentration camp in Mauthausen, where thousands of prisoners died during the Holocaust.

I know Madonna received some media flak for taking her kids to Auschwitz.  Taking children to a concentration camp is a controversial thing, and is a decision I didn't make lightly.  It is a sobering place, its history of death, inhumanity and violence completely incongruous with its beautiful, calm and tranquil setting in the Austrian countryside.   I sat the kids down outside the camp and told them the PG-version of the story of Hitler, the Nazis and WWII.  We talked about concepts like equality, courage, peer pressure and resilience.  We talked about the importance of remembering the past and honoring the victims of cruelty and injustice, "lest we forget..."  And we said a prayer.

We skipped the museum (not kid-friendly), but toured many of the buildings on site.  The kids were subdued as we all felt the depressed spirit of the place lingering in the barracks and all around the camp.  We walked through the memorials and down the uneven stone path to the rock quarry and the “Stairs of Death,” where weak and malnourished prisoners were forced to carry heavy rocks (often weighing up to 50 kilograms) up the nearly 200 narrow and uneven stairs for 12 hours a day.  Sometimes, one would trip or stumble under the weight and would fall, setting off a domino-effect with those behind him or her.  We left the camp feeling thankful for our freedom and sadness for those who suffered.  It was difficult to shake the feeling of somberness and melancholy that followed us from the camp, and we all agreed that it was an experience that we will not soon forget... and will remember with reverence.

We made a quick stop in Steyr. a place I loved living as a missionary for five months.  With some difficulty, we found the address of a family I was close to during that time but there was no one at home.  I wrote a letter, and then helpful neighbors ultimately tracked them down on a cell phone.  I was sad to learn that the family has become fractured and that they have no contact with the son who was baptized while I was there; they don't even have an address or phone number.

When we finally arrived in Bad Gastein, it was dark and late (nearly  11 p.m.), and the kids were tired and cranky.  We checked in, took in our luggage, pulled the murphy beds down from the wall and within minutes they were contentedly sleeping under down comforters.