The Raxalpe Trip

08/11/09 – 08/13/09

We left for our journey to Raxalpe on Tuesday the 11^th, and the subsequent journey is as difficult to top as any of the amazing adventures that we have had so far. The early departure time coupled with the enthusiastic excess of those in the back of the bus starting at about 9am took something of a toll on the spirits of those that didn’t indulge in spirits quite so early, but this was soon overcome by the excitement of the journey. Our first stop was in Eisenstadt, the seat of the Esterhazy Hungarian noble family. The Esterhazy’s primary claim to fame is their patronage of world famous composer Joseph Haydn, which they are sure to point out on every street corner, museum, sidewalk, wall, umbrella, pet, drainage system, etc. It reminded me powerfully of the emphasis that Salzburg put on being the home of one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and elicited the same reaction from me. I really don’t like being bombarded with the knowledge that the only thing that their tourism focuses on is being the home of Haydn, as the town seemed much more interesting than just that one small piece of information. The Museum devoted to Haydn was an unfathomable mix of historically significant items from Haydn’s time, and extremely odd contemporary pieces that were meant to compliment them. This fusion of old and new failed spectacularly in my opinion, and the effect of the museum was completely diminished due to the weird art that stood next to a composition that was written in Haydn’s actual hand. Haydn did not need all of this weird stuff to emphasize his genius; they could have simply devoted the museum to his life and work, as well as those of his patrons, and it would have been a much more enjoyable and informative experience. Those of us that saw the “avant-garde” installation of a video of a naked woman trapped beneath a small piece of Plexiglas in one of the far off corners of the museum understand the extent of the weirdness that permeates from the “Haydn” museum.

The second part of the tour was far more interesting in my opinion, as we walked through the former Jewish quarter and visited an extremely interesting looking church that Haydn first performed several masses in. The church featured an incredibly extensive collection of the Stations of the Cross, with life size wooden figures depicting every station throughout the church. The most telling of the stations was the condemnation of Jesus by the Jewish judges behind him, as they were dressed in the traditional Jewish garb of the day. It was a not-so-subtle message to those making pilgrimages to the church and the citizens of Eisenstadt as to who was responsible for the death of Jesus, and who their anger might be directed at if they felt powerfully about the suffering of their lord. It seems like such an obvious ploy when viewed through our eyes, but at the time it would have sent a very powerful message to somebody who had just walked hundreds of miles to see these incredible wood figures that depicted the brutality of what Jesus went through in no uncertain terms. To make the jump from anger at the Jews in Jesus’ time to anger at the Jews walking the streets of the day would not have been very difficult, and would have likely been readily evident in their subsequent treatment.

Our meal at the bier garden in Eisenstadt proved that it was not just the grumpy Viennese that harbored a certain distaste for Americans (or perhaps just all tourists in general), as our waiter was undoubtedly the rudest person that I have had to deal with so far on the trip. For those of us that ate there, it was clear from the very beginning that we were nothing but an inconvenience to him. He attempted to overcharge Professor Stuart, refused to bring our table an extra spoon before counting the spoons on the table to ensure that we weren’t spoon thieves, and seemed to sigh heavily each time a request was made of him. Now I’m not thick enough to think that all waiters are as rude as he was, because there are jerks in Europe just like there are Jerks in America, but I must say that it seems unfathomable to me that an American waiter would ever behave in such a fashion. I think that Chris had a good insight when he pointed out that our motto in America is invariably something along the lines of “the customer is always right”, whereas in Europe that is not necessarily so. We go to a restaurant expecting to be waited on, when in fact here it seems as though it’s a favor for them to let us sit down and eat their food. It makes sense when one stops to consider that the difference may lie at the root of the culture rather than their distaste of tourists, but in my opinion it does not excuse treating somebody like dirt, particularly if that person is about to pay a significant amount for the service.

Undeterred by the rudeness of our Eisenstadt waiter, we restarted our journey bound for the unrealistically beautiful Raxalpe, and the world’s steepest gondola ride. The ride was relatively easy and tame, as the gondola never rose much higher than fifty feet from the face of the mountain, and the hotel at the top was a perfect image of what one would imagine a small secluded Alpine hotel would look like. The bartenders up here had almost no English it seemed, which made me wonder how often English speakers made the trip up to this secluded spot. I did hear at least one other family speaking English over the weekend however, which made me think that this place was probably a little more well known than I had thought at first.

The view from the hotel was like something out of a postcard, and the ensuing hike on Wednesday provided some of the most incredible panoramic scenes I have ever seen. It really gave one the feeling of the sort of culture that must have existed in this region before industrialization changed everything, and the incredible isolation that people would have lived in. I doubt that these areas were populated by anything more than farmers and the like, or rather herders that let their cattle run up into these regions if they needed to. But the incredible difficulty of surviving in that environment gave a good look at how the mountain culture of Austria would have been vastly different than those that developed in the cities.

The return journey from Raxalpe featured a couple of very interesting stops, the first and foremost being the Hinterbruehl Seegrotte. The underground lake is the largest in Europe, and was the result of a mining accident that allowed approximately 4million gallons of water to flood the cave. By far the most interesting aspect of the cave was its history as a Nazi war plane factory during the Second World War, particularly the fact that it was used specifically for building the fuselage of jet fighters. Of course jet fighters were never used during the War, but if they had been successfully tested and deployed by the Nazis the entire outcome of the affair could have been different. Walking through the cold caves let one really imagine the Jewish slaves from the Mauthausen Concentration camp working under horrid conditions, working on machines that could have possibly turned the tide of the war in the favor of their enslavers. Of course it was an ideal location, as it prevented the factory from being bombed by the Allies, as they had been targeting plane factories from the early stages of the war. I had read about the Seegrotte before, but never realized how close to Vienna it was or how easy it would be to see that part of the country’s history.

Another highlight on the way back to Vienna was stopping at Castle Liechtenstein, which was unfortunately closed. It was an extremely well preserved example of a medieval castle, whose crumbling medieval ramparts and still intact tower gave the feeling of an immensely old building and a still functioning fortress simultaneously. It would have been really great to get to go inside and look around, but we had to content ourselves with walking around the outside and admiring the castle gates. I thought it was a great location for a castle, as the wooded region surrounding it sloped downwards somewhat sharply, which would have made any form of frontal assault difficult.

The entire Alps journey was something that I will never forget, as much for the people that I shared it with as the actual experiences. We’ve been extremely lucky to have a group of people that genuinely seem to get along, and have not divided into exclusive groups to a large extent. I can only hope that our final weeks provide something close to the amount of memories that we have accumulated in such a short time.