Ch6: Destination Germany.

Lake Constance or Bodensee in German is located between Austria, Germany and Switzerland. The Austrian town of Bregenz is situated on the lake only 15 km from the German border.  A cable car took, and still takes tourists from the town to a hill overlooking the lake. Near the terminal station was a road that, according to the map, would take us to the German border. It looked like a good place to cross.

The terrain was mostly farmland mixed with patches of forest and hills. Scattered in the landscape were small towns, villages and farms. We were uneasy about this trip. Where there are towns, there would be police- and perhaps border patrols. Two guys with knapsacks walking toward the border would stick out like sore thumbs. Franta picked up most of his stuff in Feldkirch, and with his huge backpack he did not look like a casual hiker. We decided we would cross at night.

Bregenz cable car.

Bregenz did not impress us, too many tourists. After shopping for food we found the cable car terminal and a large gondola took us to the top. It was too early to start our trip so we spent the rest of the day mixing with tourists, admiring the scenery.  The sunset over Bodensee was beautiful and it reminded us it was time to embark on our trip. 


We found the road and started to hike. It soon changed into a narrow country lane, crossed by other roads and lanes, some not marked on the map. After a while the lane started to twist and in the darkness we lost any sense of direction. Franta dug out a compass and we were surprised to find out we were heading back into Austria. Somewhere we took the wrong turn and lost our way. It was too late to go back, so we decided to follow the compass azimuth and go cross country. 



It was more difficult than we expected. We climbed over hills, through waded creeks and went around small lakes and marshes, but the most difficult part was crossing the fields. They were enclosed with wire fences, very difficult to climb over with heavy knapsacks. I watched with some satisfaction as Franta climbed over barbed wire with his big backpack and ripped his pants.

 At last we came to a dirt road that was heading towards the border, but our relief was short lived. The road passed a house where a big party was under way. Many cars were parked on the road, loud music and singing were coming from around the house and a few dogs were barking furiously. We bypassed the house through a stinking marsh, getting wet to our knees. Were we still in Austria or in Germany? We didn’t have a clue. The road finally took us to a highway. Which way to go? We used a box of matches to illuminate a road sign and tried in vain to find it on the map. Then we heard voices in a distance coming towards us. They were singing. They were drunk. They were a bunch of teenagers, drunk as skunks. “Deutschland oder Austria?”Franta asked. “Bundes Republic Deutschland” a few yelled, “Bundeswehr” others. They were army recruits, drafted to the Bundeswehr, the German Army.

I could identify with them. It reminded me when I was drafted to the Czechoslovak Army. We went through medical exams, an interview, were passed from door to door and eventually all the recruits gathered in a hall. Then we were given a pep talk by some brass, “It is your privilege to serve in the Czechoslovak Army, to defend our country from fascists, warmongers and from American imperialists, blah, blah, blah…” after that everybody went to a pub and got really drunk. That day the police ignored drunk, yelling, singing, and puking teenagers. It was a time honoured tradition that our fathers and their fathers went through when they were drafted.

Camping at Alpsee

We got rid of them by going in the opposite direction and early in the morning we came to a town with a road sign saying Lindenberg. The railway station was closed but on sidings was a motor coach, with unlocked doors. We climbed inside and stretched out on the benches to catch some sleep.
                                                                                        I was woken by someone walking through the car whistling. It was the train conductor. Suddenly the whistling stopped. He saw us! He stood there for a few seconds, then turned and walked back. SLAM! He closed the door. Was he going to call the police? There was nothing we could do. Then the engine started and the train moved to the station where a few dozen men were waiting. It was the morning train taking people to work. Franta went to the station to buy tickets. On the map we found Lake Alpsee not too far. There must be some secluded place where we could stay for a couple of days to rest and clean up.
                                                                                   We got off the train in Wiedemann and hiked along the highway to the lake. It was a very hot day. Franta was grunting under his backpack and a never-ending stream of cars was passing in both directions. The lake was a big disappointment; there was no access to the shore. We passed many fields that were completely fenced in, right to the edge of the water. 


Just as we were going to give up and look for the next railway station, we saw a line of parked cars and behind it a beach with people, some swimming in the lake. Without hesitation we dropped our knapsacks and jumped into the water.  On one side of the beach was a large thicket of bulrushes. Inside, hidden from the beach, we noticed the bulrushes had been trampled, somebody had camped there before. It was the perfect spot for us.           

In the evening after everybody left, we moved to the bulrushes and pitched our tent. The next morning we got up early, cleaned and washed our clothing and, making sure that nobody could see us went to the beach. It was time to rest. Franta was snoring on his sleeping bag and I was working on my English. 

Shortly after lunch three girls arrived and they spread their towels not far from us. One was a pretty blond with a body like Dolly Parton’s. She spent a lot of time arranging herself on the towel. When I looked at her, my eyes popped out.  Dolly was lying on her stomach facing me, reading a magazine. Her loose top was hanging down, baring everything. She was wearing sunglasses and I didn’t know whether she was reading or watching me staring at her!  I tried not to look but it was very difficult and my eyes kept turning in her direction. She didn’t stay in one position very long so I was not bored. One time she rolled over on her back with her legs facing me. She was pretending to be sun tanning but with her legs slightly spread and moving slowly back and forth, her body language was saying something else.  I was relieved when they left.When Franta woke up I told him, greatly exaggerating, about the show he missed. The Czech language has many words to describe her actions, but nothing can match the English expression “prick teaser”. 

Watching Dolly Parton

Towards the evening when everybody else left the beach we went back to our tent. I was sitting outside practising my English and Franta was in the tent sorting his stuff. A Volkswagen with POLIZEI on the door pulled into the parking lot. Two policemen got out and started to walk down the beach. They were heading toward us! I called Franta “Two cops are coming over, here you better get out and talk to them.” He didn’t move.  I was starting to panic.  “I am not kidding, get out Franta, hurry up, I don’t speak German!”    “Then talk to them in English” replied stubborn Franta. 

It was too late to argue, the cops were at our tent. The older one spoke to me in German. “I don’t understand German, do you speak English?” I said.   The other answered in broken English “No camping here, verboten, you leave.”  

“I am sorry, we didn't know that you cannot camp here and there is no sign.” I replied.  “No camping here, you go!” he insisted. “OK, we are going to leave.” I said.  “Where do you live?” he started to investigate.

Year ago, the factory I worked for purchased some equipment in England. My job was to convert the English blueprints into Czech. Each drawing had a title block with the name of the company and “Birmingham, England” underneath. Suddenly I could see those words clearly in my mind.

“We are from Birmingham, England” I replied without hesitation.   “Where are you going?” was the next question.                                                    

 The answer was easy: “We are going to Feldkirch, we have friends there.”  The cops had a little discussion. “No camping here, verboten, you go tomorrow OK!” The policeman seemed to be pleased with his English, “Good bye”, and they walked back to their car.

HOLLY SHIT! We were lucky. “Did you hear that? We have to leave in the morning” I told Franta. “They have lousy cops here. Czech police would have nailed us right away. They would first ask for our papers” Frank said contemptuously. Next morning we packed our stuff and took the train to Munich to see Franta’s auntie.

In the sixties hitchhiking was very popular. British hitchhikers carrying backpacks flooded Europe. They travelled light and cheap, sleeping in railway stations, bus terminals, parks and on beaches. The cops obviously thought that we belonged to that crowd. In hindsight, if Franta had spoken to them, our trip would have ended up differently. 

                                                                                                        
Next chapter 7: Munich encounter.

Crossing the border to Germany.