Ch2: Escape plans

My journey to Canada happened in an unusual way. Every Wednesday evening our Climbing club had a meeting where we planned weekend trips. My climbing buddy Eda arrived to the meeting late and bewildered. “My brother Hans is gone, he escaped!” Eda was complaining.

“He went with a group of climbers on a tour of the Julian Alps in Yugoslavia.  On the way back they were changing trains in Vienna. There was an argument between Hans and the rest of group about the platform for the train to Prague. Hans insisted they were wrong and went to a different platform. The group was right and two of them went back to fetch Hans. They were going to give him a hard time but they could not find him. Finally they went outside the station to look for him and there was Hans getting into a taxi. They yelled at him but he just waved back and was gone.  He had played a trick on them about the wrong platform; he wanted to get away from them.”

Travelling abroad from Czechoslovakia was very limited under the Communists.  When the government eased travel restrictions to other East European countries, it was mainly on organized tours. For Czech climbers the Julian Alps in Yugoslavia were a popular destination. Tourists traveled by train from Prague to Vienna in Austria and from there they would change the train to Yugoslavia. For any would be escapist, the railway station in Vienna was a window of opportunity to get away.

Brothers- Hans in front & Eda behind

After the meeting we went to a pub to talk about the situation. Eda was very upset, saying that it was unfair what his brother did to him. “It will be very difficult for me to leave the country now. I will have a black mark in my police records. I can kiss good bye any climbing trip abroad.” After a few beers we decided that Eda should follow his brother and try to escape. Eda was my climbing and drinking buddy. “If you want to escape I will go with you “, I offered. We ordered another beer and toasted to our escape.  I did not realize how this offer, made in a slightly intoxicated state, would change my whole life.


Eda was glumly drinking beer and then suddenly his face lit up. “I am rich now, look what I inherited from Hans,” he started to catalogue, “Norton motorcycle, television, climbing gear, one of his sleeping bags, dark room equipment, maybe one camera…” He went on. We had to act fast. The government did not take kindly to escapees. Hans would be sentenced to jail in absentia and his property confiscated.

Hans lived in a cabin in the Tisa Mountains so on the weekend we drove there to check it out. Eda was shocked when we opened the door; the cabin was empty, cleaned out. Then we recalled that before his trip Hans was endlessly complaining that he has no money, offering to sell everything he had. It was another trick he played on his friends and he succeeded quite well.

The plotters climbing in Tatra  Mountains: Franta left, Eda in the middle and  me  right.

There were a few trusted friends in our club that we told about our plan and asked if they wanted to join us. They were all eager to go but after a few weeks heads cooled down until only Franta Buk was left. He was a good climber, bold and strong-minded, a good partner for our trip.

Every year The Czech Mountain Climbing Association organized a few trips to the Julian Alps. It was not easy to get on such a trip; applicants usually exceeded available spots. The applicant had to be sponsored by his club. There was a form to be filled, stamped and signed by the chairman. The stamp was important; it made the application an official document.

We completed our applications and gave them to the club chairman to sign. He signed mine and Franks. Then he looked at Eda:  “I will not sign your application. I don’t trust you. You will try to escape like your brother, and I would be in deep shit. You can still apply, who knows, maybe they will let you go.”

                 The chance that Eda would be accepted were almost zero. But we had a back up plan. The stamp was kept in a filing cabinet in the meeting room. We picked the cabinet lock, stamped Eda’s application and forged the chairman’s signature. Then all three applications were mailed away. To our (and the chairman’s) enormous surprise we were all accepted for the climbing tour of the Julian Alps. We were jubilant; suddenly a new world had opened to us.

One day Eda received a post card from his brother. Hans was on his way to New Zealand. Now any doubts or hesitations were gone from our minds. We started to talk about trekking in the Himalayas, visiting exotic countries like Canada and Australia.

Then we received disappointing news. The trains to Yugoslavia were being rerouted and would be going through Hungary, another communist country, instead of Austria. Too many people were jumping the train in Vienna. It made our plans more difficult but not impossible. Our base camp would be in the Julian Alps in Slovenia near the village of Gozd Martuljek. This is a favourite area for mountain climbing and it is close to the Italian and Austrian borders. The borders follow mountain ridges and peaks, forming a natural, seemingly impenetrable, barrier between the countries.  A few mountains like Mangart and Jalovec, listed in the climbing guide were located in the proximity of the Italian border.We knew that the borders on the Yugoslavian side were patrolled by the border guards. However climbers from Austria and Italy were allowed to climb in that area and we could mingle with them.  For us it was a “soft border” compared to the one between Czechoslovakia and West Germany. 

Mount Mangart 2845 m viewed from Jalovec 

The border between Czechoslovakia and West Germany was truly impenetrable. It was protected by two sets of barbed wire fences, one of which was electrified. Between were minefields, flares fired by trip wires and manned watch towers. Any intruders penetrating into this no man’s land would be shot. A wide strip along the border was designated as a restricted area and only people with a special permit were allowed to enter it. The Cold War was in full swing. Why an electrified fence?  “To keep Western spies, saboteurs and CIA agents out” was the Communist Government’s line. And to prevent some “misguided persons” from trying to escape the worker’s paradise that we lived in. A few “misguided persons” would become a flood if the borders were suddenly opened. 
We had a tourist map of Slovenia. It showed a path going from Mount Mangart, along the mountain ridge that formed the border and terminating in Italy. It was probably a trail used by Italian climbers returning from climbing in that area. Our plan was to climb Jalovec and then follow the mountain ridge in the direction of Mangart until we crossed the path heading to Italy.  Following the trail on the map, it looked easy, maybe too easy. 

So far our plans were more or less just plain talk mixed with bravado and a small measure of reality. The departure time was just too far away to worry about details. We were fairly good climbers so getting into Italy would not be a problem. What to do once there-we had only hazy plans. Franta had an aunt living in Munich. He had only seen her as a small boy but was certain we would be welcomed in her home. Therefore our destination was Munich, Germany. How we would manage to cross three borders did not cross our minds yet. Eda was fluent in German, so he would be our spokesman in that part of our journey.

I took night courses in English and could read newspapers but didn’t have any opportunity to speak it. Would my school English be good enough in a foreign country? I decided to brush up. I made about 600 small flashcards with English words and sorted them out into three boxes marked “know well, exercise, don’t know”. I had an easy job as a mechanical draftsman and many times hiding behind the drafting board I would shuffle the flash cards. My co-workers noticed my strange behavior at coffee time and gave me a nickname “The Shuffler”. A few times they pulled my leg and mixed up the flashcards or hid a box. But I did not get upset; I knew who was going to have the last laugh.

One day Franta came to the club meeting all excited. “I am going to Yugoslavia on a bus tour.”  Franta worked as a bus driver in the public transit. One of his co-workers was supposed to go to Yugoslavia on a tour organized by their Union. Shortly after he paid for the trip his girlfriend told him that she was pregnant. So instead of going to Yugoslavia he needed the money for wedding and offered that trip to Franta. “It is a two week trip to a Resort on the Adriatic Sea. The last four days is free time. I will take a bus to Jesenice and check the hiking trails to the borders”.

Jesenice is a town at the foothills of the Karavanke Mountains. The border with Austria runs along the mountain ridge above the town. At elevation of 1600 m Karavanke are a thousand meters lower than the Julian Alps and not as steep. The previous year we were climbing in the Tatra Mountains in Slovakia and we met three climbers from Yugoslavia. We took them on a tour and became good friends.  One of them, Drago, lived in Jesenice. He gave us his address and the tourist map of Slovenia. “You should come to Jesenice; it is a very nice area for hiking.”  The map now came in very handy, it showed hiking trails in that area. 

Our train to Gozd Martuljek, went through Jesenice. We had considered going across the border there; it would be a shorter and easier trip. However there were a few problems. We travelled in a group and it would be difficult to get off the train without attracting the rest of the group’s attention. There would likely be a few “minders” in our group to keep eyes on us. This region was more accessible to the public and would be patrolled more frequently by border guards. We didn’t know this area so there was a chance we could get lost or run into an army patrol. It looked too risky. Perhaps Franta would have some answers to these problems when he returned….

Franta looked dejected when he came back. “You would not believe what happened” he started. “I arrived to Jesenice without any problems. With a knapsack and sleeping bag I looked like another hiker. At the bus station I met a hiker from Austria and he gave me some tips where to go.  I found a dirt road that took me to an old cabin near the summit. It looked so picturesque, like a painting: Alpine meadows, grazing sheep watched by a dog and the shepherd dozing near the cabin.” ..

Karavanke Mountains. The strip of land running along the ridge is
the border  between Yugoslavia and Italy.

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“I went to the shepherd, and told him that I was lost and asked where the border was. He waved his hand and said just little over there, at the top. We chatted a bit and I asked for water. He went into the cabin and when he came out, I was shocked…..”

“He was wearing a uniform and carried rifle. He was a border guard! There were two more guards with him. This is how they guard the border, disguised as shepherds! They searched me and then escorted me to a police station in Jesenice. The police gave me a hard time. I was interrogated, accused of trying to escape and locked up in a cell.  They were going to hand me over to the Czech police. Out of the blue I remembered that Drago was from Jesenice. I had his address with me and gave it to the police.” Drago came and greeted me as an old friend. I told him about our trip to the Julian Alps and the bus tour and that I followed his suggestions about hiking in Jesenice.”

“Drago was some big shot in Jesenice, he spoke to the police chief and after he left, they let me out of the jail.  I had to sign a statement about being caught at the border. The report would be sent to the Czech police in Prague. And then they let me go.”

Being charged with illegally crossing borders was a very serious offence in Czechoslovakia. Franta could end up in jail. But he was more worried that with a police record his dream of driving a bus for a travel agency would be over. Suddenly the fun was gone from our plans, it was now a serious business and there would be no turning back.  

Happy reunion with my mother 20 years later.

My girlfriend Vlasta. I broke her heart.

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There were still couple of problems I had to deal with. One was my parents. Should I tell them anything? My stepfather would say “You are big boy, good luck”. It would be different with my mother, we were close. She would not try to stop me but it would be very hard for her to say good bye. We might not see each other again. And there was still a chance that we would call off our plans. So I told them nothing.

Also I had a girlfriend, Vlasta. We had been going out for almost two years and got along well. I told her many times not to take me too seriously, that I was not marriage material. She agreed with me but our relationship was slowly getting more serious. Suddenly she was in my way. I didn't know how to break our relation without hurting her. So again I did nothing.


Our trip to the Julian Alps was only few weeks away and Franta was walking on pins and needles. What would come first, the police report or our departure? The day came and Franta arrived at the railway station carrying huge backpack. “Why is your backpack so big?” I asked him. He showed me his custom declaration that listed everything he carried. “What? You take a suit, shirt, tie and shoes with you? Are you crazy?”  Franta looked at me-astonished “How are you going to apply for a job in Germany? In your jeans?” A thought like that had never crossed my mind. I spent hours sorting my stuff, trying to eliminate all but the essentials from my knapsack. Franta went the other way. Well, he was a strong guy he could carry the heavy load.

At the railway station in Prague there were about forty climbers gathered round a big pile of backpacks, climbing ropes, tents and other climbing gear. We started to board the train, with the usual chaos, trying to fit everything into the train compartments. The train departed and Franta relaxed. Near the Hungarian border the police and customs officials boarded the train. The police were checking our ID cards, customs were collecting custom declarations. The train stopped at the border station and we could see people getting off. Then a police officer came to our compartment and asked for Franta Buk.  “Take your backpack and come with me” he ordered a puzzled Franta.  Eda and I were stunned; the police nailed Franta at the last moment, right on the border! Were they waiting for him? How long did they know? What were we going to do? Go ahead with our plans or scrub everything? The train started to move again.

Then we saw Frank coming back, dragging his backpack and grinning. “When they looked at my custom declaration, they became suspicious that I am smuggling things. I had to unpack my backpack. They wanted to know why a mountain climber needs suit and tie. I told them that we will be spending a few days at a sea resort and I wanted to visit a few night clubs”. 

The rest of our trip was uneventful. From Gozd Martuljek we hiked for a few hours into the Julian Alps to a log cabin belonging to a local climbing club.  There we set up our camp.  

Next chapter 3:  Long way to Italy

Julian Alps as seen from our campground.