Into the Malta Valley.

Saturday, the 30th day of May started out full of sun shine and promising temperature. 
(Later in the day it changed to "cloudy with occasional showers).
A visit to the Malta Valley and the at 1902 meters elevation situated "Kölbrein"  Hydro Electric dam seemed, and turned out to have been, a great idea.

First stop: The town of Gmünd in Upper Carinthia, first mentioned in documents in the year 1252, it has become the cultural and artistic centre of Upper Carinthia and is well worth more than a stop over and a look around. We promised ourselves a longer visit, during which we intend to visit at least some of the many art galleries and museums, including the Porsche Museum.

One enters Gmünd through a narrow, one vehicle only, gate. (above)

The other end of town features a remaining part of the original 

defencive wall, which surrounded the town, and the first archway.

***********************

From Gmünd into the Malta Valley, along a narrow, sometimes one lane highway, controlled by traffic lights testing your patience. But hey! You're on a one day holiday and time is not the most important issue.

It started at "Waiting time 20 min".

At 16 min I decided to take a picture

In mid picture, above, one may notice the safety guide rail of this precarious road.

Patiently waits my "Captur" for the light to change to green.

*********************

onward between lush, flowery meadows on both sides of the road and here and there a waterfall thundering over almost vertical cliffs.

**************************

Finally we reach the dam.
Kölbrein was constructed between 1971 and 1979 and, at 200 meters (660 feet) it is the highest dam in Austria. Many problems necessitated repairs and it was not until 1993 before it could function at full capacity.

The vegetation-less rock face shows the present low water level.

The view down stream shows the secondary, much smaller dam.

a rose in 24 hours

There is almost exactly 24 hours difference 

between these two

photographs of the same rose.

Poppies and Poppies and Poppies

Visiting the medieval excavation atop the Hemmaberg, I found a field of wild growing poppies.

.

I was reminded of the poem about the poppies in Flanders fields.

At first I thought that this was not the time to talk of it. 

But then it came to me that

 anytime is the right time to speak of the horror and sorrow of war.

So here is the Poem, 

written on 3rd of May 1915 by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae 

of the Canadian Expeditionary Force.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row

That mark our place, and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In  Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch, be yours to hold it high

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields

Bertstravels

Changes

That's the way it goes !

In our garden, anyway!

 The Death of a Rhododendron...

 ...and the Birth of a Rose

All kinds of philosophical comments could be made

 about the four pictures above.

Let me just simply say:

The Rhodos have had their fling.

Now it's the Roses' turn.

"The Deserters" ( Excerpt 3)

Before the rains came in the fall and after the long dry summer, the water level of the Salzach receded every year and you could walk along the sandbank on the east side of the river.

Before the rains came in the fall and before the heavy-fisted clouds obscured the sun, they walked on Sunday afternoon along the sandbank on the east side of the river.

The children carried their wooden sandals and felt the warm sand with their toes. Their mothers walked beside them and behind them and in front, and stored the warmth of Indian Summer days. That was before the rains came in the fall.

This was a Sunday afternoon and although the morning had been brisk, the wind had died at noon and they walked in small groups of three or four or five under the sun which valiantly fought off autumn chills. The women wore light knitted sweaters over gingham dresses and most were barefoot in their shoes. The children raced like spinning tops between them in a never ending game of tag.

The children stood by the water’s edge and skipped flat stones against the river’s current. One, two, three, four, five…look here, watch this one:

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…yesterday I had one skipped sixteen times….I did… who saw it?…no-one…doesn’t count…show us now….go on….show us now…skip one sixteen times…ha….sixteen times…show off…prove it.

“Okay, here goes, stand back,. Gimme room…skip …one, two, three, four, and five…”

“Ha, sixteen times…lucky you made five…sixteen times, my foot!”

“I don’t care if you believe it or not, I don’t care. It was real flat and just the size and weight…there were no waves…and I had one, skipped sixteen times. I counted it. Lemme try it again…gimme some room…lemme try again…” Skip. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…

“Pretty good, pretty good”

Before the rains came in the fall.

Before the rains came in the fall this was a great place for a picnic. Whole families, mothers and their children, would find a rock, smoothed by the waves all year, and spread their bread and cheese and thermos-bottled tea.

Out there by the sand bank they would eat. A little sand between the teeth had never harmed a soul.

“I guess you’ll have to go,” she said. “It’s one of those things….you can’t avoid.”

The boy had rolled up his trousers’ legs. He carried his shoes, on knotted laces, slung over his shoulder. He walked with a loping gait. His shoulders were drawn up. He bent down low and picked two pebbles from the sand.

“It’s so stupid,” he said and shook the stones in his cupped hands. His solemn eyes were nearly black and specks of silvery sand glistened in his black curls.

“I don’t know if it’s stupid. You know, your father, God rest his soul, he served his Country in the Great War. He was even decorated.”

The children’s laughter from the water’s edge…

“Stand back…watch this one…this is going to be a good one! Skip, skip, skip. Before the rains came in the fall. The children are still playing tag, racing between their elders, kicking up sand.

“You’re it! I touched you! You’re it!”

“You never did, you liar, you never did.”

“I did too, you’re it. I touched your shirt. I felt it. You’re it. I touched you, I did! Didn’t I Mom! Mom! Didn’t I?”

Before the rains came in the fall.

“Okay, so Dad served”

“Served bravely,” his mother interrupted.

“Okay, so he served bravely, and was even decorated. That was in his time and in his place, with his body and his...Ah...his mind. He fought his war.”

The stones rattled in his fist. He kicked his naked toes into the sand.

“It’s no different now,” his mother said.

“But it is!” he said, ‘I know nothing of his fight.”

“You know nothing of this one either.” Her voice was tired. “Anyway, what are we arguing about? Erich, you have to go. You’ve got no choice. It’s your duty. It’s the law.” For a second or two she closed her eyes. “My God, Erich, you’re 16, you’ve been drafted.”

Before the rains came on the sandbanks of the Salzach.

How wrong can they get ?

In 1901, Gottlieb Daimler, (Daimler Benz) said:
The world market for automobiles will not exceed one million. Simply because there will not be a sufficient number of chauffeurs.

and in 1876 in a memo to the board of directors, an official of Western Union Financial Services suggested that: 
"This invention has so many flaws that it cannot seriously be considered as a tool for communications."
He was talking about the Telephone.

Bertstravels
suspects that some of these gems are made up. Or ?

In San Francisco Bay

A sail boat with all sails bulging in the wind.  
Driving forward, denoting freedom and joy !

In the back ground: Alcatraz, the former prison island, now closed but still evoking the feeling of dread due to its reputation as the island of no escape.

Do You know, or do You believe ?

Do you 'know' or do you 'believe' ?

I've had some flak because of my religious, or actually anti-religious writings in this Blog and elsewhere.

I do not now ask, and have never in the past asked anyone to believe anything I said or wrote.

It is, in fact, the very process of „believing“ which I abhor.

Because believing means accepting somebody else's claims, statements, writings, including my own and accepting these utterances before they have been allowed to make a pit stop in one's brain, so that they may undergo a critical examination prior to their incorporation in one's fully accepted pool of knowledge.

We are asked, for instance, to believe that there is a God, as he is described in the Bible's two Testaments, although neither book presents even a shred of evidence for this claim.

Evidence which could be examined investigated and tested.

No Priest, no Pope, no 'learned' Theologian has ever been able to present any evidence which would allow independent investigation.

Those, who say, they do not need proof of the existence of a God, they simply „know“ that God exists, are surely happy within themselves and, as the saying goes, „God bless them“.

Now there are those who make everything very simple for themselves by the claim that „there is No God“. For this claim they too present no evidence and therefore are in the position that they too have to simply „believe“.

Of course they point to the world and its cruelty and say: 

How could a God allow such to happen ?

This woeful question also is no evidence of the non-existence of God. Because there could, indeed, be a God who, for his own good reasons, would allow this to happen.

The Deists, for instance, have it that there is a creator, a God, but that he is not concerned in the least about his creation. A little like a small boy who grew tired of all his toys, slammed the lid of his toy box and walked away.

Doesn't this „I know“ place the Believers and the Non-believers on the same platform, but shouting into different directions ?

Neither truly „knows“ but both „believe“ that they are correct in their respective assumption.

Somewhere between the Theists, the Deists and the Atheist, there are some who simply say:

„You don't know and You don't know and neither do You know, because that which you „believe“ is truly unknowable. When it comes right down to it, one of you may be right. 

I, however, would not want to place a bet.

Bertstravels

is slowly getting tired of this subject.

Ogden Nash

I kept thinking about my recent posting about the pelican, seemingly fettered by a heavy chain to a log. I used the rhyme of pelican and "helican". All of a sudden it occurred to me that I am guilty of plagiarism and that, indeed, the famous American poet, Ogden Nash used this gimmick.
Let me first apologize to Mr. Nash and secondly give you his entire poem, actually a Limerick; for your undoubtedly great amusement:;

"A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week
BUT I'M DAMNED IF I SEE
HOW THE HELICAN:


Bertstravels 
loves Limericks.
and Pelicans

Birds on my neighbour's wood shed.

"gimmi, gimmi, gimmi"

"gimmi more, gimmi more, gimmi more"

The Deserters... cont.

 Why are the flags so red? Why are the circles so white? Why are the sun wheels so black in the white circles? Why are the people so quiet? Why do they sit so stiffly almost at attention?

The flowers look so innocent. The flowers say: We are what we are and just as the sun shines over the river and the town without discrimination, so do we decorate and beautify and ask not what. The flowers make an almost perfect circle around His picture which comes up to the very edge of the rostrum.

And the rostrum stands at the very centre of the stage. The stage is draped in flags….horizontally and up and down. What is the name for ‘up and down’? …Oh yes: vertically.

Horizontally and vertically

Horizontally dead, vertically alive….

The stage is draped in flags, horizontally and vertically. In the four corners of the stage are flags in bushels.

Children in white shirts and black kerchiefs ‘round their necks stand at ridiculous attention…their fingers pressed against the seams of their dark trousers,

Vertically they stand.

And in the centre is the rostrum and against the rostrum leans His picture, huge, surrounded by an almost perfect circle of non-discriminating flowers..

There were voices before the curtain had gone up.

Now the voices are dead and the people seem dead in their seats.

Underneath the stage it is dark and dusty. Through cracks and knotholes in the boards beams of light rush in and dance exuberantly and in triumph.

The footsteps are amplified and reverberate and even the light beams shake a little. The foot steps come from behind the stage and cross it surely and come to rest at the rostrum..

The lights are bright on the stage and they dim now where the silent people sit and when it is all dark, except for the flag-draped square of the stage, where the light seems even brighter now, and when all is dark except for the stage, everybody slumps forward a little and slides down in his chair and thinks that she will be able to relax.

Where only yesterday, or was it months ago – at any rate, it seems it was only yesterday, - where only yesterday they were down in the Salzach, swimming in the ice-clear rushing river, swimming, bobbing, sinking, rising, swimming; running along the foot path on the river’s edge, upstream through the bush land, running upstream for miles and their naked bodies sweating deliciously in the beaming sun, where only yesterday the ice clear water of the Salzach cleaned them, bathed them, caressed them, whispered to them, carried them lazily down to where they had left their clothes, where only yesterday that clean water which comes from the mountain springs, cleaned their clean, exuberant bodies and cuddled their free and soaring souls, today they stand under the Klieg lights and their bodies sweat again and they stand stiffly at a stance completely foreign to their bodies, and they absorb with rapt attention and gleaming gleaming eyes and innocent souls and unprepared brains, they absorb the message which is the spoiler, the corrupter, the insidious and secret poisoner.

How many sun-drenched days, how many miles of ice-clear Salzach to clean them? The river will flow eternally and it will be there and it will cleanse and the path will again be opened and the debris will be removed, slowly, partially, slowly, never totally. Never?

And sweating they stand and their attention is so total that the words sink into their souls without ever having touched their minds. 

They stand sweating and they sit and listen and they melt into one great body which sways and rocks and silently moans in an ecstasy of non-comprehension.

The word was in the beginning and the word will be in the end. And it is Sunday and the 10 o’clock ‘Sunday Morning Festival’ has begun.

another part of "The Deserters"

presented by

Bertstravels

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

So, you think only flowers or blooming bushes, or Sophia Loren are beautiful ?

well, think again ! the next time you walk through a meadow, bend down a little

or maybe sit down and really look at the grasses around you.

Bertstravels

doesn't smoke it. He just looks at it.

The shackled Pelican on a San Francisco Pier !

Can he shed these shackles ?
The Pelican ?
Can he ?
Like Helican !

"I gotta get rid of it ! Makes flying really hard !"

Bertstravels
in San Francisco

The Deserters

HOW CAN YOU TALK TO ME OF ONE MAN’S DEATH,

WHEN UNTOLD MILLIONS DIED?”

“BECAUSE,” he said,

“THE MADNESS WHICH ALLOWED

THIS ONE TO DIE WAS PRESENT IN THE DEATH OF ALL.”

**************************

There it was:

Three o’clock in the afternoon and, as he looked over the edge of the red tin roof, he could see the river, almost blue, foaming past the old city walls and carrying with it the high pitched, hissing sound of the fast flowing water.

Now, that the last shots of the anti-aircraft guns had ceased, the stillness that fell over the town was unreal. He turned on his back and, looking into the sky, he saw the small light-grey puffs, which looked so much like clouds, but which were all that was left of an exploding shell after all the steel had gone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, but the puffs, round and dark, then wind-torn and light, still hung on the inside of his eye lids and could not be wished away. He lay there for a long time and allowed the sun, the brilliant sun, the undisturbed sun, the neutral sun, the sun to make his face feel hot and the skin tight over his nose and cheeks.

The “All Clear” signal of the wailing siren, that long, constantly rising wail, which never seemed to end, and which seemed to carry him and the roof and the city and the river up and up, which seemed to turn and spin everything on an upward spiral toward the sun. Yes, the sun and the river and this town and this girl beside him and this stupid war…….this girl.

He raised himself on one elbow and the tin roof on which they lay gave a hollow bang. He looked at her. She had been watching him and she smiled. A long blond strand of hair, slightly curled at the end, came over her cheek and to the corner of her smile. He wished that she would brush her hair back, out of her face and stop the tickle which he felt in the corner of his mouth.

“Where should we say we were?” he asked.

“Oh, any shelter. The school shelter; the shelter underneath the library….anyway, no-one will ask.”

“At first they used to ask,” she said, ‘but now, they got so used to it, they never bother.” 

He shrugged his shoulders:

“I guess we’d better go now.”

He stood up and the flat tin roof gave off another loud and hollow sounding boom. She reached up and so their hands touched casually and when he had pulled her to her feet, they stood and found each other in a smile in spite of it. They tip-toed to the edge and with every careful step the roof protested with a hollow boom. The girl went first and he bent down to guide her firmly. As she lowered herself, feet first, and gently down, her right hand gripped the wire of the lightening rod and he held firmly to her left, down past the eaves trough, her breasts pronounced by the pressure of her body against the roof, now both hands on the rim, her blond hair disappeared and then the gentle thump on the grass below. Erich followed quickly.

“I’d better hurry,” she said and waved to him and turned and went away.

He looked upward and saw the last puff in the sky had gone and brilliant sunshine everywhere and then he noticed with surprise that the town had re-awakened and re-appeared from underground.

“That’s the last time I’ll try station IX,” he muttered to himself. “Every move you make, that roof is noisier than the Flack, The best is Station XII…..it’s in the sun as well and the roof is solid stone and even grass and moss grows in the cracks.”

The fact, that Station XII had Jesus on the cross with big spike nail and bloody feet and chest and hands and all, caused them at first to find a different spot to meet. Although they’d never said as much, they’d both been happy to abandon Station XII and secretly they felt relieved.

*************************

Bertstravels

(excerpt from a book I wrote so many years ago.)

Nothing is forever

In the year 1124 A.D. , Bishop Otto of Bamberg started the building of the Castle of Griffen.
I  guess he meant it to last forever and a day. 
Today, a short 891 years later, however, it lies in ruins, a clear sign that "Nothing lasts Forever."

Framed by a field of clover in bloom

and a blue sky (with clouds),

what remains of the former castle

houses a restaurant popular by many visitors.

12 men and a puck !

Of course, I followed the Hockey World Championship in Prag.

The Canadian Team gave much joy to every Canadian and the players, having demonstrated their superiority in this game, have every right to be proud of themselves.

During the qualification round the Maple Leaves went undefeated, and, in some cases, they bettered their opponents by large margins, such as 10:0 and 10:1.

Then came the final against their arch enemy on ice, Russia. A country which, on previous rare occasions, had defeated the Canadians.

In the initial stages the game was an even contest, with the Canadians scoring once.

Then, as the news reports had it, and as I saw it on Television, the Canadians gave their Russian opponents „a lesson in hockey“.

A late goal by Russia made the final score 6:1 in favour of, guess who? Canada.

Yes, Yes, I know, there are more important things in life than ice hockey.

In those  Canada stacks up pretty well too. 

Thank you.

Bertstravels

finds ice much too slippery.

Sometimes you're just lucky

It was, if I remember it correctly a weekend in April of 1948.
I was about 16 years old, visiting "High School" in the nearby town of Ried and, of course, given the circumstances of that time, I was always broke.
Strolling down the Main Square in the direction of the river, I saw one of my friends coming up towards me.
Charly Reicheneder, the son of the owners of the shoe store by the same name, had blown a great fanfare in the same music group where I was a drummer. We marched together and played together from 1942 to 1945 and we remained great friends ever since, even though our ways had parted.

Charly's greeting must have gone something like this:
"Servas Eggi! Was tuast denn ?"
I probably told him that I was not doing all that much.
Charly came right to the point: "You want to play the string bass in our band ?"
"Sure, but I have no idea how to play the string bass"!
To play the bass in a Jazz Combo was a far cry from the almost two years of violin lessons I had had, where one plays mostly "Etudes" and other boring exercises.
Charly told me that he was growing tired of playing the bass, that he had been practising the clarinet for quite a while now and that he thought that he would rather play this reed instrument than the "Double Bass".
"I'll teach you"  he said.
And that was it!
From then on Charly gave me lessons in the fine art of playing the bass and, on a peace of card board, he drew the contact points for the individual notes. I had no problems whatever with the rhythmical aspects, but I must say that the bass lines for melodies in varying keys where a different matter.
That took a while and I was sometimes surprised that the rest of the "Melodies", (that was the name of our little combo) put up with my attempts to find the appropriate key.
Sometimes I would ask our pianist: "in what key are we playing this piece ?" or, "what key did you change to now ?"
He would just smile and say: "Listen and try it. You'll find it."
As time when on, I got a little better and found the keys quicker.
I also discovered that I could sing with a mike and an amp and a speaker and that too added to the entertainment value of "the Melodies"..

Charly became a wonderful Clarinetist, a simply great Tenor Sax player and, as this article with his picture in one of Braunau's magazines says,

Charly became a "Living Legend".

Under his name the magazine wrote:

"A Legend in his Lifetime"

Here are "The Melodies"

(Normally we used a piano. Space constraints 

forced us to use an accordion on the occasion of this picture.)

Bertstravels
remembers these times fondly.

.

Rhododendrons

As each year, the Rhododendrons in back of our garden are in full bloom..
I think I should share them with you

Yes ! And they also said this:

Airplanes are most interesting. I do not believe however, that they have any military value whatever.
Marshall Ferdinand Foch, Strategist of the French Armed forces. 1911.


These rays, alledgedly invented by Mr. Röntgen (Xrays), will certainly prove to be a fraud.
Lord  William T. Kelvin

Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons.
Popular Mechanics Science Magazin, 1949

640K ought to be enough for anybody.
Bill Gates 1981

and finally:
We don't like their sound, and, anyway, guitar music is on the way out.
Decca Recording Company Official, rejecting the Beatles, 1962


Bertstravels
is still chuckling

Did they really say that ?

"I think there is a world market for maybe five computers"
Thomas Watson, chairman of IBM, 1943.

"Everything that can be invented has been invented"
Charles H Duell, Commissioner, U.S. Office of Patents, 1899

"There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home."
Ken Olson, Pres. and founder of Digital Equipment Co. 1977

Bertstravels
finds these sayings hard to believe.

Roof lines

When I look from our balcony towards the Petzen I usually do not notice, right in front of my eyes, the wonderful view of several roofs intersecting at varying angles.
It is the steeple of the Roman Catholic church, St. Paul which either enhances the general picture, or destroys the view onto the mountain, depending on what mood I am in.

The frequent ringing of the bells from the tower in such proximity sometimes gets on my nerves.
It is really a presumptuous attitude to suggest that this church's presence  must be announced constantly to one and all, even those who truly are not particularly interested in their ringing.
Of course they announce each quarter past, half hour, quarter to the hour and finally the hour, but they also ring when a citizen of the town has passed away. In this case the bells toll three times for ten minutes each, with a five minute pause between each ringing.
Naturally they also ring before each church service, Mass, High Mass, Prayer Meeting, as well as on any other conceivable occasion.
As Hamlet's mother says: 
"The Lady doth protest too much, methinks."

Back to the roof lines visible from my balcony!
Here they are:

FROM THE BRIDGE

A small brook runs through it...

through Bleiburg, that is.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau said:

The Liberty of  Man is not that he may do as he wants,
but that he does not have to do what he does not want.

Bertstravels
had to think about that one for a while, but now totally agrees with Jean-Jacques.

The Vineyards of Styria

On my birthday we took a little trip through part of the wine growing country of Styria.
Gently rolling hills from horizon to horizon.
The ground, not covered by forests, is cultivated with vineyards.
No wonder that the Austrians make excellent wines.

Just one of the hundreds of vineyards in the area called "Sausal"

We sat in the garden of a very exquisite restaurant. 

This was the view from our table.

The food was fabulous, the wine was fabulous,

the view was most fabulous and

the prices were ultra fabulous. (but worth it !)

"Christin"

I think Mark Twain said it:

One could cite many examples of unnecessary expenditures.
The most unnecessary he suggests surely is the "cemetery wall."
Those who are inside, cannot leave the area anyway and those who still are outside do not want to get in.

      **********************

Lonsome in Bloom

It stands alone, in the middle of a meadow on the "Hemmaberg"

In full bloom, a harbinger of Summer.

Bertstravels

Green on Green

"Larches"

On a little drive / hike

Got not much else to do today?
Come with me for a little drive and a hike 
through the countryside in our immediate neighbourhood.

from one of the hill ranges, a view into the Jaun Valley

and onto one of the many small villages dotting the country side.

turn your head a little and view the Karawanken mountains

just accross the border in Slovenia.

a closer view of the Karawanken.

Although this rock wall is almost perpenticular,

there are still coniferous trees fighting for a foot hold

One of many mountain brooks.