A FAREWELL TO A GOOD FRIEND:

Never ever have I regretted leaving my camera at home anywhere near as much as I did today.

Eisenkappel is a small town, tight on the Slovenian border, nestled  between mountains which in Summer are lovely, green and tree studded, only the very top a grey solid rock. 
In Winter the mountains wear the obligatory white snow cap. The densely growing evergreens, under the load of freshly fallen snow, bend their branches low to the ground. Each branch a solid white, with only the very bottom flashing their green needles now and then in a gentle breeze.

The town has a main street and to the West a few side roads. Left and right the hills rise steeply and leave very little space for even a church and a grave yard. The church looks down upon the town from quite a height, the way up to it in gentle serpentines with one or two hairpin turns, runs right between the snow covered graves.  

Eberhard was an architect and left his mark on many buildings in not only Eisenkappel, but all over Carinthia.
He built a Protestant as well as a Catholic church. He built public and private buildings.
He also built bridges between the German- and Slovenian speaking people of his world. If you think that that's easier than building a church out of bricks and mortar, granite and marble, you are sadly mistaken.
To understand the difficulty of building bridges between these two groups, you must understand the history of this area. When the difficulties mounted, however, Eberhard just worked a little harder.

Eberhard loved his family. He also loved the mountains and, I am sure, he loved his skies. I'm told he was an excellent skier  right up to an age when most others hung up their boots.

The other day Eberhard closed his eyes for ever, and today the whole town of Eisenkappel and many, many friends from far and wide came to bury him and pay their respect to his family.

That's why I regretted having left my camera at home.

You cannot imagine the sheer beauty of this burial.:

A coffin made of plain wood. I believe it might have been Cedar, fashioned in the way an honest carpenter would have made a sturdy box, was carried on the shoulders of six men clothed in bright red winter jackets, blue pants and heavy boots. The Uniform of the mountain rescue group stood out among the rest of the mourners, dressed in black. A long winding snake of those who had come to say "Good By" to Eberhard slowly wound its way up hill, through the snow covered grave yard and to the church. 

To a 'standing room only' crowd, the Priest, who was also a friend of Eberhard, spoke of his many accomplishments. He spoke of his creations as an architect, as well as of his untiring efforts on behalf of his community and of his love for his family. Again and again the words "modest", "giving", "patient" and "loving" were used by all those, honored to eulogize him.

When the Mass was over, we filed out of the church and, as if Winter was also here to say "Fare Well" to one of his lovers, heavy snow flakes came down so densely that the surrounding hill- and mountain sides almost disappeared in a white cascade.

The same six men from the Mountain Rescue Squad carried Eberhard in his wooden box along the winding path to his final resting place. The local brass band, dressed in blue tunics, black pants and wide brimmed hats, played: "Ich hat' einen Kameraden' einen bessern find'st Du nicht." (Once I had a friend. You'll never find a better one')

I have never attended a visually more beautiful funeral in my entire life.

That's why I could have kicked myself for leaving my camera at home.

This will never happen to Bertstravels again:




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