Reflections from Feistritz an der Gail
At the end of a spring break trip to Austria and Hungary, I stayed two extra days in southern Austria to visit my great grandparents’ hometown. My lightly edited reflections from the end of each day are transcribed from my Field Notes below:
Day 1:
Quiet and green, Feistritz an der Gail rests in a wide valley with craggy peaks and snow capped mountains on every side. When I pull into town in my rental car around 2pm on Tuesday, I’m tempted to take photos of the mountains from behind the wheel. A bubbling creek winds its way through giant houses newly plastered and restored stone barns. In between houses, cows chew on lush grass. I’m guessing the inhabitants of Feistritz have probably raised cattle on this same grass in the same way for generations. I wonder if this is how my great grandparents’ families lived before they left Feistritz for America over 100 years ago. I wonder if they stood in awe of the same mountains I’m transfixed by today.
From the southwest, the Julian Alps tower over Feistritz from Italy. From the southeast, Slovenia hosts the same imposing range. In a two hour loop around Feistritz, I drive through Travisio, Italy, stopping at a nearby mountain lake and nearly get stuck at the Austria-Slovenia border because I forgot my passport. (Turns out the passport was in my back pocket the entire time.)
Despite coming to Austria over my spring break for the opportunity to visit my great grandparents’ hometown, I know so little about the Kuglitsch family that called Feistritz home. Where did they live exactly? What did they do? What were their dreams? Why did they leave? Who’s still left?
I’m in the perfect place to answer some of those questions from the people who stayed. According to the online phone book, the Kuglitsches live all over the valley. “Kuglitsch?” The post-office-turned-hotel bartender exclaims. “Just down the street!” He blasts in the little english he knows. Yet I feel so little interest in reconnecting. They are as much family to me as a stranger in the train station.
But meeting long lost relatives is not what this trip is really about for me. It’s about my mother, whose memory of her grandparents remains strong enough to retell stories about them working at the Wisconsin School for the Deaf when she was a little girl; my mom’s cousin Mary Jean, who forwarded a fable her grandparents shared with her when she was little; and Sue Kenney, another of my mom’s cousins, who sent me the family tree, a history of my great grandparents’ houses, and some travel tips. I likely won’t meet any family here in Feistritz. I won’t even try. Fact is I probably won’t ever come back to this lush valley with picturesque peaks. Writing at a dining table in the hotel, I’m just grateful my trip brought me a little closer to the family I already know and love. And that’s what it’s all about.
Day 2:
Driving into Slovenia to hike in Triglav National Park (pronounced “Trig-Lau” by Slovenians; pronouncing the “v” is an obvious giveaway for a likely German), I’m struck by the crisp air. It’s chilly outside, and I haven’t even started climbing altitude yet. I read online that a good 10km hike starts at a point in the park where google maps says the road ends. So I climb bumpy asphalt, avoid high centering my car, lose cell service in the park, and lose all sight of human presence before I turn around afraid that I’ve gone too far. (I have.)
I could tell you more about this hike — I made my first cairn, saw river water as clear as an Alaska summer day is long, etc — but what made the day surprising is what happened at 3pm moments before I was about to leave Feistritz for my train in Salzburg. Sitting down at the Alte Post’s bar for a quick cup of coffee, I ask the bartender about the history of the hotel. As I ask, his boss — one of the old hotel owners — walks in. “She would know more,” the bartender says. Pepca smiles when she approaches. “Stanford?” She asks? (I presume I was one of few guests that night or at least one of few guests from Stanford ever.) I reply, “Yes, I was just asking about the history of this place. It used to be a post office, right?” She walks me over to the official post office plaque from the Kaiser dated 1883.
I took a photo as she walked away. A few feet away, I saw a photo of the Austria ski team with a skier named Tomas Druml. Druml. Isn’t that my great grandmother’s maiden name? At that moment, she walks back towards me looking at the ski photo, and she points at Tomas Druml. “That’s my son.” She steps away again, and I immediately pull out the family document on my iPad from Sue. Yes! Druml is my great grandmother’s last name. I ask the bartender if he can go get her to review my family tree. After a few minutes, she comes back, reads the docs, and calls her husband who asks me to send them my documents and to leave my info for them to help track down some of my family history. Then, she offers to take me in her car to see the home where my great grandmother lived.
Of course, Pepca also wants me to see her home on the way. A beautifully restored traditional home with the old barn — original beams and all — now made into extra bedrooms and an annex for guests.
Mere moments after I arrive, she introduces me to her kids, Lena and Tarina (and later her son Tomas), who proceed to help translate for me, pour through the town history book, and share in conversation. Pepca offers coffee. I demur at first — I really do have a train to catch — but it’s only 4pm. My train isn’t until 9pm and it’s a 2.5 hour drive away. I suddenly realize I’m in the middle of a really special moment. I relent for Turkish coffee and a slice of cake.
Lena proves to be the linguist she is — she’s completing a thesis now — quite skillfully translating her mom’s Slovenian. Wild hair pulled back into a messy pony tail with sweats, she carries a book in German as she moves between Slovenian and English with her mom and me. I meet Tarina cuddled in a hammock on the patio before she eventually joins her sister in conversation with me inside the house. We all talk for the next hour about Feistritz, skiing, growing up in a small town, politics, and some family history before Pepca takes me to the Hadet house where my great grandmother lived and the Nikitz house where my great grandfather lived. I could’ve stayed for hours longer if I didn’t have a train to catch in Salzburg. Pepca gives me a hug before I step into my car.
I leave Feistritz gratified for overcoming my solo travel anxiety, exploring Italy and Slovenia, hiking in a beautiful national park, and making new connections with total strangers.
