A Place to Stay

by Isabel Torgove (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Austria

The late August air in Vienna had been stale and oppressive, the heat had seemingly permanently settled over the city. The mountains with their cool, welcoming elegance unfurled around the panoramic train travelling East. The entire car heaved a collective sigh of relief as the breeze replaced the stagnant air around us. My sweat started to dry but my anxiety started to rise. I had just a few Euros left, no where to stay, and a lot more ground to cover over the next month. We reached the station in Bad Ischl and I stepped out. I left my pack in the station and continued into town, towards the mountains that towered over the idyllic European town. It looked like a story book, right down to the locals in Lederhosen and Dirndls eating their afternoon cakes at cafes by the Traun river. Despite this bucolic scene, chills ran down my spine as I walked. I kept my dark curls in tight braids, so as not to give off too many clues to my background. The Salzkammergut region, the former playground and famed refuge of Nazis and their allies, did not evoke a sense of security, though I remained intrigued. Set off on a hike to clear my mind, I wound my way up the steep trail to the top of the peak Katrin. I stopped to take in the views and a sip of crystal mountain stream water. A young man struck up a conversation with me, asking about my home, my travels, where I would be staying in town, and for how long. I confessed that I was low on funds and without a place to stay, planning to camp out in the wilderness. He said, “That's silly. I know just the place you can go, he usually has a few rooms free.” What he neglected to tell me was this place was at the top of a hill, accessed only by an unforgiving road. After navigating my way up with my bulky pack, I arrived at the grand old house. Peter, the owner, opened the large oak door I had just wrapped on and welcomed me into the dark wood paneled foyer. Peter explained that this house had been a hotel, hostel, BnB, and refuge for over a hundred years. The same chills returned as he showed me around the building and property. My mind filtered through all of the possibilities, would I have been welcomed the same way eighty years ago? I tried to replace these fears with open mindedness and curiosity. I brought my things up to the room he had assigned me and washed up for dinner. I slowly made my way down the large staircase, taking my time to look at the eclectic collection of photos, prints, and paintings that lined the yellowing pink floral wallpaper. It all felt so warm. The smell of pasta and fish intoxicated me, I hadn’t had a proper home cooked meal in over a month. Peter and I sat down at a small round table and began to chat in between mouthfuls. As the night wore on we moved to the plush armchairs in the parlor just beyond. Several of the paneled windows had been cranked open, the same pleasant chilly breeze I first felt on the train drifted over the bottles of homemade Zwetschgenwasser, or plum schnapps, one of which we had uncorked. Once I had mustered up the courage, I asked Peter what the general feeling around the Nazi party and Jewish people was in the region. “You don’t need to be afraid here, but be aware. I would like to say that all of that animosity has vanished, but much remains. My family was living here when the Nazis invaded Austria in 1938 and seized the property soon after. My grandparents went into hiding, but my aunt stayed behind to keep an eye on the place. She was only sixteen, running this whole place by herself. Cleaning and cooking for men who wanted her dead, they just didn’t know it.” I asked how she managed. He replied, “She kept her hair plaited and wore a cross. That was enough to save her and the house.”