DAY 26

Saturday 6 August 2011

The day we skipped der Fuhrer but got straight on to Vlad the Impaler (Dracula, to y’all).

With no email from Sebastian announcing a miracle repair of the car, we decided: off to Vienna.  But before we left we saw a little more of the jaw-dropping Salaach Valley. We drove to nearby St. Martin then up the steep, narrow paved road to the 300-yr-old cathedral on the mountain, Maria Kirchental. We drove by a line of obviously fit and devoted pilgrims who hiked straight up the mountain, stopping to pray at scattered devotional points We marveled  at the sight of this simple cathedral in  suchan awesome setting, surrounded by peaks and waterfalls.

As we approached, we hit the first of a series of jackpots: the choir (aged maybe 14-70, all in traditional  Heidi/feathered cap garb) was rehearsing, and not only did they sound angelic but the delay (the sustain of the notes in the air) was a rare treat to hear. Dian went close to the altar and a docent motioned to her to come and look behind the altar and she was amazed to see the towering wall of votives (small paintings, many 300 yrs old) and the statue of Christ with half his knees torn away as well as other big wounds and lotsa blood streaming. Nicole and Charles got to share though most pilgrims don’t know to seek this out. As we left the organist cranked it up for our processional from another great find.

We'd decided to make the slight detour out of the valley to Berchtesgaden, a slice of heaven so beautiful the Germans bought it from Austria in the 1920s. Charles went there when he was stationed near Stuttgart in 1968, and wanted to show it to Dian and Nicole. It was worth the drive, and as they pulled into town they saw a Market Festival (one day only) with citizens in traditional clothing, several stages for live music (missed that) and crowds packing the narrow streets. We decided to try to reach Eagles’ Nest, Hitler’s hideaway (if you were the most powerful man in Europe and could choose anywhere, where would you pick?), but our weak little engine couldn’t handle the grade and we headed out for Vienna.

We cruised along uneventfully towards Vienna, but at a rest stop some guy pointed under the van. We’re leaking. Oil? No, much worse, gas. Oh. No. We need a vital repair and it’s late Saturday afternoon. We’re going to spend the weekend in some gas station  unless we spend a week or two waiting for a hard-to-get Wesfalia part.

It got worse. We’ll be brief. We couldn’t even call roadside assistance because neither of our Dutch phones was letting us call anyone. On the brink of despair, we asked a man going to his car next to ours if he could call assistance for us. Instead: (Limerick by D&N)

A Romanian man named Cornel

Came over and offered to help

He got on the ground

And fiddled around

And all of our worries were quelled!

It turns out that all it needed was the right wrench to tighten the two spots where it was leaking. A miracle! The gentleman was nice enough to say please look me up if you're ever in Romania (and gave us his number). Another example of the kindness from strangers.

But it got stranger!!! Across the way the truck driver (fellow Romanian) who had loaned Cornel the wrenches was watching the scene and drinking beer, a case at his feet, a large man dressed only in shorts and flip flops. We thought he should be rewarded too so we brought cookies over. He said Not with beer ! Then he offered us one. Which we accepted. This was when we pulled our chairs over and started a wonderful dialogue, despite his very limited English and our non-existent Romanian. The story of Vlad the Impaler, a report Nicole did in 3rd grade, was pronounced complete fiction. "Commercial!" Razvan exclaimed, complete with histrionic gestures, "He was a good man, NOT a vampire!" He explained that he only impaled BAD guys.

It was to be our first experience of "free camping" in a rest stop which he assured us would be safe. We ended up having a great evening of music, delicious pork and sausages, and a very high opinion of Romania.