Upon return from our Christmas vacation in Scandinavia we found in the mailbox (the old fashioned one) the December 2011 issue (no. 21) of a magazine called Arte Patchwork.

Now, it was not accidental that it had been sent to us.  We actually met the editor, Mirvia Aranda Marín, at our solo exhibition during the Quilt en Sud event in St. Jean de Luz in May 2011. She very modestly approached us, explained her visions and ambitions for the quilting magazine ”artepatchwork” - written in Spanish – that she had started. Mirvia wanted to feature us in one of her next issues, so if we didn’t mind, she would be very pleased to run an interview with us.

We felt that there was a genuine wish behind her enquiry and agreed. Due to practical reasons we mutually decided to make a written interview and Mirvia would send a series of initial questions to us. We must say, that the questions we got were very thoroughly thought of and researched and they really put us at work.

The article based upon the interview starts on page 22…

…and runs for 12 pages and includes 20 images!

Now, how is it for us to open this magazine and see the result of the interview? Well, we must say that Mirvia’s ambitions of making a quality magazine with high quality prints were not just hot air and dreams. The printing and image reproduction is excellent, and the paper quality is in smooth satin, not high gloss that causes reflections – it feels really good to touch and read.

We read Danish, German, English and French, but Spanish is a language we unfortunately do not know – a fact that now on a couple of occasions have made us sad, because we could not really communicate with the many Spanish visitors to our exhibitions in Sitges in 2006 and in St. Jean de Luz in 2011. However, perhaps with this interview in Spanish, we will be able to reach out to all these wonderful visitors, who showed such great interest in our quilts. It would be very pleasing for us if this were the case.

The International Quilt Week, Yokohama 2011 was held in the Pacifico Center on the city’s harbourfront from 10-12 November.

The show was very well organized and interesting for us to experience and be part of.  It was arranged in the classical way with an exhibition area and a market area. Our gallery was placed centrally, where these two areas met, and just 50-60 metres in a straight line from the entrance to the show.

The gallery was called “Inge & Steen” Quilt Exhibition and enclosed with walls in wooden structures, which gave it a very sympathetic atmosphere. As you see, there were two side entrances and the “island” in the middle allowed visitors to slowly walk their rounds in the gallery, enjoying our 31 pieces distributed on both sides of the walkway. One quilt “Crow’s Nest II” was exhibited on the outside of the gallery, to the right of the main entrance, and very neatly placed behind a Plexiglas screen.

The organizers had chosen “Pit Stop” as the centre-piece, and we must say, it worked very well, and has never been exhibited so prominently, we believe.

The photograph above may give the impression that the huge patchwork hanging down from the ceiling would be distracting for visitors to our gallery. This was not the case at all. The gallery worked so well that once in it, that was what mattered and one was led gradually around the oval aisle from one quilt to the next.

For those who were not familiar with who we are there were two sets of introduction, one in English and one in Japanese. No one was left to guessing.

For those who had forgotten their catalogue, there were bi-langual information stands. You see that we had a busy agenda during the show with gallery talks and a talk show as well. On top of that were brief opening speeches, judging of an exhibition and award presentation for the winners. 

The market was very interesting to visit. We noticed the overwhelming  use of brown and earthen tones in many of the products offered. It was not so much fabrics, rather items like handbags. Handbags in all kind of sizes and shapes, and thousands of accessoires for making them. If we can judge from what was on offer of merchandises then there is no doubt that handbags really attract the creative quilter in Japan. 

We have a great admiration for Japanese quilters and what they create, so you can easily imagine that it reallywas a great treat for us to be at the show for the time it lasted. Being among all these wonderful people and the quilts there were on display in the various exhibitions gave opportunity to both talk to quilters (yes, due to the collective knowledge of the English language we managed to communicate to a certain degree) and to study in detail their works.

 When flying back home to France we felt that we had had a great time at a great show.

We were tired, but had a lot of hours to sleep in…

These days we are visiting Japan for the second time.

The first time was 25 years ago – a time span that can hardly be noticed. Or can it?

We’re here for the 2011 International Quilt Week in Yokohama, where we have been invited to exhibit a collection of our works. It includes 31 of them, and we are looking forward to seeing them hanging together. It is always a special experience for us, because normally we see them one at a time when we make them or when we see one or two of them in an exhibition.

We are of course also looking forward, very much indeed, to see all the Japanese quilts. We admire Japanese quilters for their skills, their deep respect for traditions they grew up with, their often modest use of colours, their ways of adding detail. The coming days will no doubt be very impressive for us. 

By the way. The photo below is the first digital photograph that was taken of us. It was in Tokyo – 25 years ago! Well, that was another sort of trip.

… and among her doings Inge visited a school of Ikebana.

Instead of leaving Merano at 09:15 according to the intentions of the evening before, it was 10:15 before we checked out from Hotel Adria and headed north through the Passiria valley. 

Gorgeous was the weather, wide were the views and lush the colours.

We gradually gained altitude… 

…and the roads became alpine, with these magnificent and almost surreal views deep down in valleys.

We were working our way up towards the Jaufen pass, a mountain pass boasting 2099 metres above sea level. The views became increasingly alpine and the road likewise. During the first hour of driving our navigator added almost 1 hour to the estimated duration of the trip. Of course, this was because of my amateurism for what regards “Italian driving” in the mountains, and my fear for exceeding the limits of the road sides. Consequences were likely to be serious, I thought, and often firmed the grip on the steering wheel, while smiling at the road signs telling us that we were not supposed to drive faster than 80 km per hour, when we did perhaps 45!

Behind us the valley we came from - ahead of us the type of mountains we had to pass.

Up there, after two bends, is the Jaufenpass, or – since South Tirol is formally Italian – Passo Di Monte Giovo.

All parkings on the top were taken, so we took the next opportunity just after…

…from where we had a fine view of the road ahead. It was downhill all the way to the Brenner Pass. 

I imagined that the Brenner road would be nice and interesting, but it was a very busy motorway, and it remained busy until we turned eastwards at Wörl and headed towards St.-Johann-in-Tirol.

Also on this stretch I had imagined lovely scenery, but the traffic was very dense and the road only providing one lane in each direction meant that the slowest car or truck determined the travelling speed. On the road were tractors, heavily loaded trucks, sludge transporters, etc. So, no pictures there as well.  

After St.-Johann-in-Tirol the situation improved and we could enjoy the Loferer Alps… 

…on the way up to the German border…

…after which we turned southeastwards…

…to arrive at our destination in Schönau. Just in time for the afternoon coffee and cake! The hotel had an afternoon buffet with cakes, whipped cream, etc. so we of course had an obligation to taste Sachertorten, Pflaumenkuchen, etc. After the drive from Merano this was like pushing on the reset button.

It was still afternoon, so we took a taxi the 4.5 km up to Berchtesgaden, which was our retro-trip destination. Not for what regarded the 1952 trip, but rather the one my grandmother, Dorthea, and her two sons, Ivar (my uncle) and Arne (my dad) made in 1936. This trip had in many ways influences, as you have noticed already in the previous blog postings, on the trip of 1952, and Berchtesgaden had very likely been on their itinerary way back in 1936.

In the image below, notice the gate a little left of the centre.

Let’s zoom in a little…

Now, notice the gate in the image below.

It is the same gate! We had synchronized with them again, this time with the tracks from 1936.

The weather remained invitingly nice, so what else to do than stroll the streets of Berchtesgaden, which – if my recollections are just close to the facts – had left a very positive impression on my grandmother. On my dad, as well, I believe, but I cannot nail down a story he has told. It’s merely a feeling based upon fragments from a childhood.

We checked out shops for local woodwork, Dirndl shops, and even a Lederhosen tailor! Didn’t by any, though.

Shopping, even window shopping, is tiring, and the clock had by now so many tick-tocks behind it that day, that we were ripe for a rest and an aperitif. We don’t have the urge, as my grandmother and her accompanying friend, Mrs. L. apparently had, to check out shops in every town they visited. So, upon several recommendations we sought out the top roof terrace of the new Hotel Edelweiss, situated centrally in town. The view should be very nice indeed - and it was.

I got our own travel log out of the backpack…

…and while sipping my Grüner Veltiner I made this sketch of the houses on the opposite slope.

We knew that in the area there should be a famous villa, called “Kehlsteinhaus” or, as coined by a French diplomat: “The Eagle’s Nest”. 20 years ago, I’d felt compelled to visit it, but now, it sufficed to see the house en miniature up there on the promontory. But I can’t totally ignore the fact that in the summer of 1936 my grandmother and her two sons may have been in town at the same time as some of the national celebrities of that time: Hitler, Bormann, Göring and von Schirach. 

We were back in the hotel by dinner time and were tempted by potatognoggi with chanterelles in a creamy sauce with freshly chopped herbs. It was served with a “Salatteller” which one could fill from a buffet. It was a very delicious meal, but not innocent, and with the afternoon’s cakes still having effect, we had to let the dessert menu down.

From our balcony we said good night to the panoramic mountain world surrounding us, while an almost full moon appeared over the summits and stars twinkled between few drifting clouds. It had been another nice day.

It was not only because the little travelling party, during its stay in Austria in 1952, went on an excursion by bus to Merano that we felt we also had to follow their route to this town in southern Tirol. The other reason was that we wanted to get a feeling for why my grandmother from the mid 1950′ies to the mid 1960′ies every year spent a month there. She always stayed at the same hotel, Hotel Adria, so we were curious to see both the town and what this hotel was like.

So from Schuls in Switzerland we drove back to Austria, almost all the way to Pfunds where they started their excursion. Going back the same way we came to Schuls was not boring at all, because what we saw now we had really only seen glimpswise in the rear-view mirrors of our car.

As mentioned in the previous episode the drive southwestwards from Pfunds to Schuls revealed an ever widening panorama as the valley of the Inn River gently broadened. Driving in the opposite direction  provided a more dramatic scenery as the valley gradually narrowed in as one approached the Austrian border.

The road is very good, though and relatively broad. That was not the case when my dad came to know it well from the several trips to Schuls. On the 11th of June 1952 he wrote: “…Soon one drives at the level of the river, soon high above it. In one place they were mending the road, so we had to move so close to the edge that I felt it as if the two left wheels were hovering way outside the road. I was glad when I again could get close to the mountain wall.”

Some times the river appears very narrow, but glimpswise it shows its real volume, which is impressive considering that it still has a long way to flow before joining the River Donau. No wonder why my grandmother loved this region. It gave her beauty and drama at the same time.

Near the border the road from Pfunds to Nauders became visible higher up on the other side of the valley.

We did not go all the way back to Pfunds but joined highway 180 to Nauders at the bridge Kajetanbrücke that crosses the River Inn shortly after Pfunds. We were now on the route the little travelling party had taken on the 13th of June 1952 when they accompanied the other Danish guests at Hotel zur Post on their bus ride to Merano. Soon after we were up there on the road we had seen from down at the other side…

My dad wrote about the next part of the excursion: “Passed the border a little south of Nauders… …the first place of interest one arrived at was an artificial lake, now almost dried out (this seems no longer to be the case) it is used as reservoir for a (hydro)power plant. One of Mussolini’s ideas that he never could afford to put into practice. To get the project started they first had to blow up a village situated where the lake should be. The only remains is the church tower, it resisted the explosive charge…”

“…A new town was built for the inhabitants, but their good farm land had been lost.”

When stopping by the lake a little south of the new town, Curon Venosta, and turning around we had not only a view of the town, but also the mountains from where we had descended. Looking south we could see the dam at the end of the lake appearing as a low grey wall and in the background what I presume are the tall Ortler mountains.

The little travelling party must have been informed as they progressed, because their travel logs cover relatively detailed this dam project of Mussolini’s, another power plant they passed by further on, and its statue arrangement outside on the road side. But before they got so far they noticed “…a huge Benedictine convent, white as chalk…” as my dad put it. It was the Convento Monte Maria.

He continued: “…by one of the bends, at approximately 1500 m. altitude, was a peculiar memorial for 156 Italian soldiers who fell during 1st World War. On memorial days candles are lit in there.” We remembered clearly that he had noticed this circular war memorial, because in his travel log he made a small sketch of it.

Due to traffic it was difficult to stop by close to it, but at the next opportunity, some bends further down the slope we mounted our 70-200 mm lens and got an image of it.

Apart from further details, probably given to them en route, e.g. about a marble quarry the Americans had acquired for the supply of headstones for their soldiers fallen in Korea, neither my dad nor my grandmother mentions much in their travel logs about the remainder of the trip to Merano. That surprised us, because on a stretch of approximately 50 km in the Venosta valley we saw thousands of orchards, so many that this area must be “the orchard of Italy”.

Perhaps there were primarily winyards in the region back in 1952. That could be an explanation why there are no note whatsoever in their travel logs mentioning this abundance of apples. We have never seen so many, we must have seen billions of them! And you know what? We did not take one single photo of them…

We arrived at “my grandmother’s hotel”, Hotel Adria, around 13:00. It was situated in a very nice quarter of the town and only 5-10 minutes from the touristic centre – and it was pleasing to see that the hotel appeared to be in good repair, which it proved to be once we were indoor. There’s this thing about old hotels, how they appear on their websites, etc. so I couldn’t help being a little curious as to how it would be in real life. We were positively impressed…

Up there, on the 3rd floor we had a room with balcony facing south and a view over the roofs of the town all the way to the surrounding mountains.  

Now, to get up to the 3rd floor we would use what turned out to be one of the oldest operational lifts in Italy. My grandmother must have liked it very much and felt that it gave the hotel the “style” she without doubt appreciated.

The cabin was wood paneled but in a very open and light construction, and then there was a small sofa in it for senior guests to rest their tired legs after shopping downtown or a walk in the neighbourhood.

My grandmother stayed here every year from the mid 1950′ies to the mid 1960′ies and she could even haves had the same type of key tag. It looks sufficiently antique to make this a possibility.

Did she also during one of the visits stay in room 49? It is not likely since it is a double room, but not impossible either… 

I just want to imagine that she had the same pleasant and relaxing view from her balcony, as we had.

But we could not sit there all afternoon. We had to search for the places the little travelling party on the 13th of June 1952 had been at in the city centre. The way to that led during a park and across the river Passirio. 

From the bridge we had a beautiful view to the mountains in the north that we would have to cross the day after.

Our walk led directly to the cathedral where the entire Danish group had its meeting point at 16:30 for the return trip to Hotel zur Post in Pfunds, Austria.

But before, they would have had all kinds of amusement in town. They were offloaded from the bus at a restaurant with a shady backyard garden where they had what the little travelling party called: “…something that should resemble sandwiches…” But the representative of the Danish travel agency accompanying them to Merano compensated largely by offering everyone white and red wines ad lib. Of course this boosted the mood which was further animated by the presence of the two house musicians from Hotel zur Post, who accompanied the party with their accordion and violin and entertained during the entire lunch break.

A thing to try out while in Merano was the aerial ropelift up to one of the peaks surrounding the city. My grandmother compared it to what she knew from Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, and described the installation in details. She noted the parasols above the gondolas, which made it amusing for us to see the old fashioned 1950′ies style advertisement on the wall of the entry building for the ropeway. Where the gondolas no longer were featuring parasols, the ad on the wall was just right for our retro-trip.

Through here my dad and grandmother went to get to the ticket-office window…

… and further up hill on the aerial rope way. 

My grandmother did some shopping in Merano. She bought amongst other things a spectacle case in genuine leather manufactured and styled in Italy. Inge was missing a spectacle case and thought that she’d do as my grandmother did, buy one here as a nice souvenir of Merano and our trip in the tracks and footsteps of my dad and grandmother. It was a nice thought, but now 59 years later times have changed and the demand for Italian leather work in the spectacle department has unfortunately declined significantly.

However, one of the shops in Laubengasse had 3 different ones, but they needed reflection to be absolutely sure that they were the right ones. While she was concentrating on the spectacle cases I had eyed a very nice selection of briefcases, genuine leather of Italian origin and manufactured in Firenze. They were not to have for free, so also here reflection was required to find an answer to the by/no buy question. We reflected jointly underground over a very nice glass of white wine. Well, it was time for an aperitif anyway…

As you can see in the image below, I ended up leaving the shop with a big paper bag in which there wasn’t my first favourite, not the second either, but a third, which I have already started using. It substitutes my old leather briefcase purchased in 1977 when I took up a job in Germany. So, this underground reflection-break was in several aspects very useful indeed. For me at least – Inge didn’t buy any of the spectacle cases…

My grandmother of course had lunch and dinner at the hotel during her many stays, so we had an obligation to dine there. It was surprisingly good and accompanied with a wine from Südtirol, it is no surprise that time flew like an arrow, and bedtime approached.

As so often before we rounded off the day by sitting quietly, sipping the remainder of the wine. This evening on the balcony while watching the night coming on over the city and the southern mountains near the town.

We had had a very nice day in Merano. My grandmother would in every respect have approved of it. My dad would have nodded as well while puffing on his pipe.

Way back in 1952 the little travelling party referred to the town as Schuls, and not as it is used today: Scuol. So to remain authentic to their travel logs, I permit myself to use the old fashioned Schuls. Schuls is referred to many times in the travel logs of my dad and grandmother, and that for two reasons: Pleasure and necessity. Pleasure when the town was visited for touristic reasons and necessity when visited for repair of the car, the little green Renault Juvaquatre.

On the 11th of June, 1952 they intended to make an afternoon trip to Switzerland and go as far as they could, perhaps even to Davos. Well, they underestimated the distance and did not reach Davos, but nevertheless had a splendid trip. My grandmother wrote: “Always I wanted to go to Switzerland, now my wish would come true. The nature was as beautiful as I in my phantasy had imagined…

…We have seen and experienced a lot, but this was indeed the icing on the cake, the wonderful, fertile valleys on both sides of the River Inn, whith the meadows and hills richly coloured by yellow, red, blue and white flowers…”

…the wooded mountain sides where often huge, tall rocks protrude with roaring cascades, and above the timber line, as far as the eye can see, the snow-clad mountain peaks…

…And the mountains are differently shaped than in Austria and the Bavarian Alps, the small villages decoratively scattered in the landscape are in a totally different condition than here in Austria…”

My dad was more concerned about the road, but still had an eye for the beauty of the region: “Road (in a) bad (condition), but very beautiful with long even ascends and many hairpin bends. The small towns had incredibly narrow streets with a gutter in the middle. (The towns) appeared poor in the rich landscape, but a closer look revealed that it was only superficial…” Well, he also commented very positively on the impressive views on the mountains. I believe he was as impressed as my grandmother, but she had waited for this 34 years longer than he had!

They passed through the town of Schuls and continued towards Davos. They realized, however that this ambition was incompatible with the fixed dinner time at their hotel, so 20 km before Davos they turned the car and headed for Pfunds. Passing through Schuls again, they felt like a break and about that my dad wrote in his travel log something that astonished me. Through childhood I hardly ever saw him eat a cake, and always believed that he just didn’t fancy cakes! But read this: “…we were again back in Schuls and went into a tea room (locally: Cafe-Conditorei) where we had Eis-Chokolade. It tasted quite delicious and we (himself and Mrs. L.) had a nut cake as well, it was not bad.”

We checked this Cafe-Conditorei out and enquired politely if they had been in operation in 1952, which was confirmed by the kind shop assistant. We bought chocolates for our trip, paid, thanked him very much for the information and headed for the door – which we did not reach before Inge spotted the round items you see in the lower left hand corner on the next image.

They were nut cakes, Engadiner Nusstorten, a speciality from way back in time for this Cafe-Conditorei, and here available in 4 different sizes. When told that they could last 2 months, we opted for the next to the largest. We haven’t tasted it yet, but when we do, we will know the taste my dad had in his mouth on the 11th of June 1952 when eating his nut cake. A house does not change the recipe for its well selling traditional signature Nusstorte, I believe, but keeps it for generations, so I’m looking very much forward to have a piece on a plate before me.

Now, the above was all in the pleasure department. Other visits to the town of Schuls were caused by the necessity to have the car repaired.

On the 15th of June they went on an outing to Nauders, a nearby town near the Italian border. While the ladies picked flowers my dad examined what could cause the noise from the front of the car and discovered that the new laminated spring in the left front shock absorber was broken. Discussing the situation back at the hotel in Pfunds, the Danish travel agent promised to help him get a new spare part in Switzerland the next day when they all would go to St. Moritz by bus.

Consequently, the next day, once back in Switzerland, the travel agent called the Renault garage in Schuls and asked them to order the spare part, and when the bus arrived at Schuls they stopped by to check if it could be delivered. That could be a possibility, the garage informed, if they were lucky and got it delivered with the 20:00 train.

On the way back from the trip to St. Moritz my dad and the travel agent checked in at the garage again to arrange for the repair and decided to take the optimistic approach and bring the Renault Juvaquatre to the garage at 20:00 when the train would arrive with the spare part. They did that, but the garage told them that it had not been on the train. The mechanics made a temporary repair on the shock absorber, so they could return safely to the hotel.

The next morning, on the 17th of June, they went back to the garage – just to learn that the spare part had still not arrived. In the afternoon that very same day my dad had to be at the railway station in Innsbruck to greet my mom who would arrive by train at 14:55 – so he did not have much margin, the young man, standing here in Switzerland with a car that couldn’t drive and a wife approaching another town in Austria with the speed of a train! His luck was that the train with the spare part had not arrived either, so they optimistically decided to demount the shock absorber and prepare for the replacement – and while doing this, the new spare part arrived!

At the VW garage in the middle right hand background of the image above, the Central-Garage Denoth, we enquired whether the old building (to the left in the image) indeed was the Renault garage of 1952. Very friendly Mr. Denoth himself confirmed and told us that it was their old garage, and here in the new showroom we could see photographs from way back then.

I was very content about our investigative work, and this feeling lasted until Inge several days later checked my dad’s entries in his travel log and actually found the name Denoth mentioned. I had not noticed that through my previous readings, I must admit. However, as Inge says, there’s a reason for everything. Perhaps the reason for me not noticing this significant detail was that had I done that, then I probably would not have enquired at the VW garage, met Mr. Denoth, a child or grandchild of the mechanic who fixed my dad’s car in 1952, and certainly not discovered the old photographs of the garage my dad came to know so well.

On the 7th of June, 1952 my grandmother wrote: “…30 km from Landeck we reached Pfunds, where the church and our hotel, both white and situated next to each other, form the centre of the town”.

Pfunds is split in two by the River Inn. The northwesterly part is Pfunds Stuben where Hotel Zur Post is positioned and the southeasterly is Pfunds Dorf. The larger of the town’s 2 churches is in Pfunds Dorf. But this was probably not that evident for the little travelling party as it rolled into town around 18:00.

In her travel log my grandmother continued: “The position is splendid and the hotel in every way comfortable…”, so the first impression was very positive indeed.

The travel agency in Copenhagen had made a mistake in that there were only reserved 2 rooms for the 3 travellers. This probably was caused by the fact that my grandmother and my dad both had the same surname, and the result was that they had to share a room until the following Wednesday. Then my dad could get his own room in the annex on the other side of the street.

This annex must have been brand new at the time because my dad later wrote, after having shared room with his mom for 4 nights: “…now there was finally established order for what regards our rooms, I’ve moved to the other house and got myself a small double-room, that is only half finished, but I at least have it for myself.” 

My grandmother also profited from this: “After breakfast I moved to a single-room with en suite, facing the rear side of the hotel, where it is so calm, and with the most wonderful view to the wooded mountain sides and the white peaks in Switzerland.”

The street outside the hotel  is relatively wide and because of this available space here in the centre of Pfunds Stuben the 3 travellers would during their stay watch music bands play and religious processions unfold. They stood at the hotel’s principal stairway from where they had a good view. It was also here that new parties of Danes would be unloaded from the coaches hired by the travel agency to bring them the last lap from the railway station in Innsbruck. My grandmother was on these occasions always there to help the new guests to find their bearings in and around the hotel.

Considering that my my dad stayed there until the 17th of June and my grandmother and her travelling lady companion (often referred to as Mrs. L.) until their departure on the 2nd of July, we have a lot of details from their travel logs about how life at the hotel was way back then. We know, for example, the menu for each lunch and dinner. My grandmother listed them carefully. So you can understand that we were very keen on paying this hotel a visit, have a glass of wine there and slowly perceive the soul of the place, imagine how they moved around in the dining hall, lounge, corridors, etc. However, the hotel had to our disappointment been shut down last year, so this was no longer possible.

A pile of old newspapers at the front door was all there was left of life at the hotel – a far cry from the busy life the little travelling party had experienced. So, what could we do? Well, they often spent time in the garden, so perhaps we could get a view of that and imagine how the lazy hours were spent.

A passage led to the rear…

…where we found a parking lot and an entrance to the hotel through its garden. A sign told us that the owners had moved their business to a hotel nearby. 

 The garden was smaller than we imagined…

…but probably back in 1952 the Western Saloon was not there, and perhaps the parking lot behind the hotel now occupies a part of what once was the garden. Anyway, we got an idea of what it might have been way back then, when my grandmother on the 14the of June wrote: “One of the quiet days. After breakfast, Arne (my dad) and Mrs. L. climbed the mountain here behind the town, and that walk lasted until past 12:00. I spent most of the morning in a deck chair in the garden, then walked around in town and out to the bend in the valley, 3 quarters of a hour it lasted, visited the church near the hotel, which is the smaller of the two, the bigger is on the other side (of the river)…” – Another day she “…rested in the orchard…” – and yet another “…under the chestnut trees near the swimming pool…”, so these were features of the garden as well.

Before leaving we got a limited impression of the interior with its arches and rooms. Maybe that has not changed and perhaps some of the furniture and lamps are still the same. Well, this is pure guesswork, but if we one day succeed in finding additional photographs from their trip, then we may know to which degree we are guessing today. 

On Saturday the 28th of June my grandmother started her travel log as follows: “The weather again wonderful, cloudless blue sky, after breakfast Mrs. L. and I took a walk over to (Pfunds) Dorf and along a magnificent forest road with roaring creeks on both sides, with many pretty flowers along their banks… …we walked as far as the bridge just below the “Eagle” a huge bronze eagle with outstretched wings, as a symbol of the protection of the town…”

We would like to do this walk as well, but before setting off we enquired at the tourist office about the ”Eagle”. The ladies there did not know about any eagle monument but they handed us a map of the town and its environment with proposed walks. One of these walks referred to “…passing the Adlerhorst on the way to…” and it passed through a narrow valley on the other side of Pfunds Dorf, so we now were pretty sure that they walked in the narrow valley you see behind the church on the next image.

We crossed the River Inn by the central bridge…

…with its saint…

…and entered Pfunds Dorf through one of the oldest buildings in the town, the Tower at the Inn Bridge.

While walking through Pfunds Dorf we enquired twice elderly people we met about the “Eagle” monument, where it was and what they knew. That was interesting, because they had to think relatively far back in time, and one then remembered it and where it stood. It was a bronze eagle with spread wings, he said and mimicked it with his arms. He could tell that it was an eagle statue that the Austrians had removed from an Italian fortress near Nauders (a town not so far away to the south) and mounted on a base of stones, so that it in all its bronze splendor would look out over the town of Pfunds. However, about 20 years ago, he said, the Austrians had to deliver it back to the Italians, and now it was back in its original place.

We now knew that there would be no eagle to look at, no matter how thoroughly we searched. But we were pleased to think about the fact that my grandmother had been resting just below where the Austrians had placed their “trophy”. We continued nevertheless to see what she had seen, and to follow a route that, according to the map we got at the tourist office, would provide for magnificent views.

We and found the creeks, which 2 months earlier probably also had been roaring with water from the melting snow.

We reached the bridge where my grandmother and Mrs. L. had stopped their walk.

…and rested for a little while where the bronze eagle had been placed, and from where it had been removed again.

 Further along the path we reached the point with the magnificent view - which it indeed was.

The view embraced the entire town of Pfunds with its backdrop mountains.

It was a nice place to rest a little while, which invited to pull out the crayons and my travel log…

…and make a little sketch.

From the vantage point we walked downhill to the town where we took the other bridge crossing the River Inn.

We were back at our hotel around 17:45 with a good impression of the place where my dad in 1952 had spent a week and my grandmother 3 weeks in the company of her lady friend, Mrs. L. 

Let me, like my grandmother did every day during the trip to Austria, mention what we had for dinner. Being more fortunate than her, who in Pfunds was faced with a set menu, we could choose from the menu, and being in Tirol, we ordered a dish special for the region (according to the menu) called “Pilzpfanne nach tiroler Art mit Schupfnudeln, Speck, Pilze in Rahmsauce, gratiniert mit Käse”. We also had a Salatteller, a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of Grüner Veltiner. It was delicious, but very satisfying indeed. It did not leave room for dessert.

So, with the rest of the wine we installed ourselves in the tea lounge…

…and went to bed around 23:00.

The 7th of June 1952 the little travelling party laid behind them the last lap on the way from Denmark to the destination where they would stay for 1 (my dad), respectively 3 weeks (my grandmother and her lady friend) at a hotel. This lap should according to  my grandmother be the most beautiful and grandiose of them all.

But before really setting off, they wanted to visit the castle Neu Schwanstein, but already then it was impossible to drive all the way up. A 20 minutes walk was required which would be too much for my grandmother’s troubled legs. She and my dad had visited it already on their voyage in Germany in 1936, and the accompanying lady renounced  immediately, kindly saying that she had already seen so many castles so it didn’t matter at all.

They decided to drive to the nearby border town of Füssen to visit the bank and buy maps and to do some other shopping. My grandmother had in 1936 in Berchtesgaden as a souvenir bought a cup with saucer and accompanying tea plate. In the meanwhile it had broken and she wanted a new set as a souvenir that in many years to come would remind her about this trip to Austria. In Füssen she found a new set decorated with Enzian flowers. My dad bought a tooth brush for himself and wire and a pair of cutting nippers as a precautionary matter or perhaps because he had ideas for how to mitigate some of the problems with the car.

They were now ready to take on the Alps and in the little green Renault Juvaquatre they drove to the border crossing just outside of town, and – now listen to this from bygone times: “…only the papers for the car, our passports and cash were of interest. There was only 1 car in front of us. The border control is situated in beautiful surroundings near the River Lech. I photographed the little green there…”

Well, we photographed ourselves very near this border control, which is out of operation now in the days of Schengen. It was at a small parking from where one could look down on the river.

They drove up along the Lech River, which near the border crossing was rather wide…

…but after the town of Reutte “…we turned up into the Lech Valley and followed this all the way. Down in the river bed I noticed the remains of two cars, later a broken crash fence and tilted kerb stones.” This was how my dad wrote covering most of the trip up the valley. My grandmother was more elaborate and emotional about it: “…and now we began the more than impressive and inexpressibly grandiose trip; …

…the first one and a half hours along the Lech River through the Lech Valley, surrounded to all sides by the wonderful Alps, with their lush green meadows, dish shaped and soft as were they of velvet and with solitary trees, …”

…or later thickets spread over the greenest of green just like in Allgaü, …

…then the timber line…

…and above the snow-clad peaks (the little travelling party were there 2 months earlier in the year than we, hence not much snow on our images), the glaciers, roaring cascades…

…the Alp-cows in their fields with their sounding bells…

…and then the changing lighting, partly brilliant sunshine, partly heavy clouds between the peaks – in brief, everything that belongs to the world of the Alps.” As you see, my grandmother really had the superlatives in her pen after this day. Later she continued: “…the climbing up to the Flexen Pass is the most beautiful, most magnificent road one can imagine – but highly dangerous to drive on, a narrow road cut out of the steep rocks, continuously with curves having obstructed views ahead, and only in very few places crash fences or curb stones on the outside (to protect) against the vertically dropping mountain sides – we hardly dared breathe. Higher and higher we climbed, to above the timber line, and deep deep down we could see the River Lech…”.

Now, where my grandmother could (and did) continue her description of this trip up to the Flexen Pass, my dad had other preoccupations. Listen to this: “When we reached (the town of) Lech (am Arlberg) we had to (turn and) go up through the Flexen Pass (at) 1740 m.” Apparently, when writing his travel log at the end of that day he did not remember quite exactly the altitude, because we saw it announced to be 1773, even worse for the little old Renault Juvaquatre. My dad continued: “The road was now somewhat broader and better, but the little green (the car) was tired. Before we started the climb there was another short circuit, and this time I thought to have found the reason behind the calamities – the insulation plate behind the ignition key was totally destructed. I bought a roll of insulation tape and tried to fix it. In Flexen Pass the water cooler boiled, but it was not dry. It took 4 bottles of beer.

…From Flexen Pass we climbed another 100 m. to reach the Arlberg Pass, where they had made a splendid road system…

…Long stretches one drove under  a pent roof, namely where there normally would occur avalanches. The roofs are supported by heavy walls with big “windows” some of which were stuffed by snow…

…From Arlberg Pass it went downhill all the time and the little green liked it!”

My grandmother’s notes from there: “From St. Anton, the known ski resort and spa, we continued through the world of the Alps…

…to Landseck, a relatively big Tiroler-town, and from there we turned southwards along the Inn River.”

…until we reached the town of Pfunds, where the church and our hotel, both white, form the centre of the town.”

However, she forgot to mention that (ref. my dad): “When we after a very beautiful trip, the last part along the Inn River, approached Pfunds, the (electrical) cables turned into fumes again. I made a short circuit by means of a hair clip, and drove the last part without further breakdowns.”

It had been a splendid and very exiting day for the little travelling party. But together and with ingenuity they made it to their primary destination.

In the evening of the 6th of June 1952 the little travelling party was approaching the Austrian border and with that the Alps, which they had enjoyed as they came closer and closer. My dad wrote in his travel log: “…suddenly we had Neu Schwanstein before us, bright against the background of spruce forest…”

My grandmother wrote briefly: “In sunshine we arrived at Schwangau, 3 km from Füssen, vis-à-vis both the castles Neu Schwanstein and Hohen Schwangau.”

The reason why they both were relatively brief in their mentioning of these two tourist attractions was that they intended to visit them the next day. It was around 18:00 and their preoccupations were of a more basic nature than the higher aesthetics of castle architecture and interiors. As my grandmother put it: “…and from experience we know how difficult it is to find lodging in the spa towns proper (she thought of the next town, Füssen) we stopped here by a charming hostelry “Weinbauer”, a real Tiroler-house with paintings on the white walls, the projecting roofs, shuttered windows, and we got 3 nice rooms (5 Deutschmarks per bed) everything very comfortable, a place one feels like staying in for a good rest.”

It was the first hotel they met when entering the town of Schwangau. It is still in operation and we had of course booked a room there to get a good feeling for the place, since the little travelling party seemed so content with it back in 1952.

It was the first evening on their trip that they hadn’t been driving until between 22:00 and 24:00, so they really enjoyed having amble time to stroll down the village street. At 20:00 they ordered dinner: Paprikaschnitzel mit Bratkartofflen und gemischtes Salat! My dad referred to it as a “delicious dinner” and my grandmother referred to it as follows: “How tasteful it was! And magnificent beer with it… …the Weinstube we dined in was almost like a “Ratskeller” with gently vaulted and decorated ceilings…”. In the image below you can see the Weinstube she referred to in the background to the right behind the two of us.

My dad concluded his travel log for that day in this way: “We went relatively early to bed, I after having written a letter to Ester (my mom). It was stirring to see the Alps illuminated by the evening sun, and we did see them moonlit as well”.

They continued next morning after breakfast, and if it way back in 1952 was served where it is served today, they have had this decoration to talk about. 

Here we are having breakfast before continuing our trip. For once you do not see us eating cakes!

During their Germany trip in 1936 my grandmother, my dad and his brother visited the pilgrimage church in Wies, and again in 1952 it was on the itinerary for the part of the trip southwards from Landsberg am Lech.

On the 6th of June 1952 my grandmother wrote in her travel log: “…a thunderstorm raged while we revisited this wonderful church, which in 1936 made a deep and everlasting impression on us, and the return to it did not disappoint, we almost enjoyed it twice as  much; it is for sure one of the most beautiful jewels that exist for what regards interior decoration of churches”.

She continued: “…one is more than moved by the artworks, their workmanship and colours, which artistic human hands here have created into a whole, that appears unforgettable and presents an impression of beauty, that is entirely filling”.

My dad was a little less florid in his recording of the visit, but surely as content as his mother. He wrote: “…the way to Wies, which still is as wonderful as ever with its extravagance and baroque decorations and colours and gold.”

What we found specifically striking were the clarity of colours applied, the lightness of the paintings and the almost perfect overall state of the church.

 In his travel log for that day my dad made this sketch of the church:

This obliged of course – if my dad could, so could I – so I got my pen and little box of Artist’s sketching pencils out of the backpack, found some interesting details and started drawing in my own travel log.

For a while I had a couple of teenagers watching  me closely. One was a girl, and she asked me if I were staff at the church. I may have made a professional impression. Perhaps it was because of my very nice travel log of high quality and the new box of Daler-Rowney sketching pencils in sepia and grey only.