The nights were warm and balmy, so we slept on deck in our sleeping bags rather than in the musty-smelling hull below. On deck we could see the stars in the dark southern sky twinkling brightly. The moon presided over the entire scene. I could hear the ripple of the waves as they lapped against the sides of the boat, making their own music.
Morning arrived and with it a cup of hot coffee with sugar and condensed milk and a hard sea biscuit handed out by Cogo. As the new day began, Mother was sorting out maps, brochures, and books about all the worthwhile sights, ancient buildings, and museums that we could visit. Mother thought that this vacation trip should add to our education. Personally, I knew I would enjoy seeing the remnants of the ancient Roman civilization about which I had studied in high school.
Whenever we went on land, our new mother bought fruits and wonderful, fresh Italian bread to enhance our meals. While Mother was busy shopping, Peter Hanns was trying to communicate with the crew using the Italian he had learned in school. To his amazement, he found that they did not understand him because they spoke a local Italian dialect, which was not what he had learned.
One beautiful summer afternoon when we were all standing on the deck admiring the sea with its little ripples glistening in the sun, someone called out, “Man overboard!” Peter Hanns’s white hat could be seen floating on the water far behind our ship. Papá asked the commandant to turn the ship around because someone had fallen overboard. Since the commandant did not know how to manage this maneuver, Papá quickly took over the ship, and with full sails he turned, sailing toward the white hat. Peter Hanns was rescued and pulled back on deck. He did not know how he had suddenly landed in the water. It was a good thing that he always wore his white hat with the large brim. This time it had saved his life.
Soon after the rescue of Peter Hanns, we anchored in the harbor of Zara, the city where Papá had been born. An account of what happened there, according to my sister Maria’s memories, follows:
We noticed a small white house on the shore. In front of the house, a little yacht lay safely behind a wharf, which protected it from the oncoming sea. A brilliant idea came to Mother’s mind. “Why don’t we rent this house for the winter?” she said, not even knowing if it was for rent. So Papá and Mother took the dinghy from the Archimede and rowed over to the house. They knocked on the door, and a lady answered who was astonished to see two strangers. Papá knew Italian and asked if he could rent the house for the winter. This took the lady by surprise, and she answered, “No, I’m sorry, it is not for rent.” I am not sure of the exact conversation that followed, but Mother probably used her charm. After the woman consulted with her family, she came out and told Papá, “Yes, we decided that you may rent the house for the winter.” So it happened that we would return there that September.
We then left the harbor of Zara to continue south. Later that same day, we were all standing on the deck, and Papá spied an unusual object in the distance. It turned out to be a folding boat, paddled by two men heading south. Papá knew they were heading for trouble; if they were to continue in that direction crossing the Albanian border, they were at risk of being arrested and imprisoned as spies. Another danger was the coast that had sharp rock formations, some of which were hidden just below the surface of the water. A folding boat could easily be punctured.
Papá gestured for them to steer over to our ship. They understood, and after they came alongside, Papá invited them on board. He discovered that they were students from Oxford, England, who were on an excursion to Greece. They thought that going in a folding boat would be economical and enjoyable. They had no idea of the dangers that awaited them. Papá found that they had no knowledge of the Greek language or the other languages they would need as they traveled south. They told Papá, “If you speak English clearly and distinctly, you will be understood everywhere.” This misconception has remained a joke in our family ever since. Papá invited them to bring their folding boat onto the deck of the Archimede and join our group as far as Venice. They accepted the invitation gratefully. Our group of passengers was now thirteen!
After the English students were on board, we continued to the Bocche di Cattaro, the most southern port of Austria before World War I. We anchored for the night, planning to head for Venice the next morning. I looked forward to seeing this famous city.
As we were approaching Venice, a heavy storm came up. The wind increased; the white caps lay in front of the Archimede, and its bow rose and sank with the waves. It was the first storm we had encountered on our trip. We neared Venice at sunset, and the skyline was shrouded in mist. We could see the spires, domes, and buildings as if through a thin veil. This sight immediately transported me into the atmosphere of a fairyland.
We arrived in Venice a bit shaken but intact. Although we were ready to walk on firm ground again, this was difficult, for there is little firm ground in Venice and the streets are mostly waterways. As the Archimede lay alongside the pier, she was tied loosely because of the waves. She came close to the pier as the waves pushed her there. Then the waves moved her away. Back and forth she went in a constant rhythm. In order to disembark, one had to step from the rim of the deck directly onto the pier. One had to decide exactly the right moment to step over before the ship moved away from the pier.
When I looked down, I could see the water. It was not at all like the mountain lakes in the Alps but more like a liquid garbage dump, filled with melon rinds and other items that had been tossed there. When it was my turn to jump from the ship to the pier, I jumped just a split second too late and, of course, I landed not on the pier but in the liquid garbage dump! I found myself deep down between the hull of the ship and the wall of the pier. My good Sunday dress and my shoes were soaked with horrible-smelling water, making me unfit to go on land. The members of the crew pulled me out, and I had to change my clothes and jump to the pier again. This time I made it!
To go anywhere in Venice, one took a gondola. The gondolier stood in the back, maneuvering the boat with a single long oar, operating it with great skill. He knew every canal. Being very proud of Venice, he acted as a representative of his city and told of its history.
Sightseeing in Venice was truly worthwhile. I marveled at the unique buildings that actually stood in the water. We saw the famous Cathedral of San Marco and fed the pigeons on the square in front of the cathedral. The square was lined with all kinds of shops to entice tourists to buy a souvenir or two. The glass factory on the Isle of Murano especially impressed me. I watched the glass being blown by methods that were centuries old.
As soon as dusk set in, the city changed. Lights appeared along the canals. One could hear music and gondoliers calling to each other. Forgotten were the melon rinds and the dirty water. One could only feel the mysterious atmosphere that pervaded the evenings. Venice then became a place of song, romance, and poetry.
At the end of our sightseeing, we said good-bye to our friends from England and boarded the Archimede for the last time. The students sent us a nice letter of thanks from England. In Trieste we bade farewell to our wonderful crew and took the train to Pola, where our camping equipment was waiting for us at the freight station. The rest of the summer vacation passed quickly. We camped for a few weeks on the island of Veruda before returning home to Aigen with a wealth of beautiful memories that have lasted a lifetime.
We were home just long enough to reunite with the two little ones, hire two teachers and a nanny, and get ready for our trip to Zara that September, back to the white house that Papá had rented for the winter. At this point I am relating an experience that my sister Maria still remembers in detail. The following adventure took place in December of 1932:
The small yacht, Alba Maris, came with the house in Zara. The yacht could only sleep four people, so Papá divided us into groups to take us on trips. I was chosen for the crew with Papá, Mother, and Martina. We left in the afternoon and arrived in a beautiful bay to spend the night. Martina, who was eleven years old at the time, made sketches of t
he scenery. The next morning, looking forward to what the day would bring, we hoisted the anchor and raised the sails. It did not take long before we sighted a Yugoslavian patrol boat, which was heading toward us. Coming alongside the Alba Maris, the Yugoslavian patrol officers boarded and asked for our passports. They also asked many questions. At that time Zara was an Italian free port surrounded by Yugoslavia, with some of the surrounding sea being Italian and the rest being Yugoslavian. Since we were already in Yugoslavian waters, these officers had the right to inspect us. When the officers heard us speaking German, they became very friendly. Their tone, however, changed once they saw our Italian passports.
Since Papá was a citizen of Trieste, which belonged to Austria before the First World War, and was given to Italy afterward, our family woke up one day and discovered that we had become Italian citizens! The Yugoslav patrolmen thought that Papá was a spy, using his family as a camouflage. When they saw the camera, they wanted to know if any photographs had been taken, to which Papá answered, “No.” The patrolmen then opened the camera to see if Papá had told the truth. Although they were satisfied that no photos had been taken, Martina’s sketches had aroused suspicion. Therefore they decided that the family had to follow them to their Main Station, which was on an island right across the water from Zara.
Two soldiers with bayonets were ordered to come on board the boat in order to take Martina, Mother, Papá, and me to the village dock where the patrol station was. Wanting to show the patrol that we were not afraid, Mother, Martina, and I started to sing, but we were soon told to be quiet because the mayor of the village had died. On the boat, the two soldiers with bayonets watched over our sleeping family, making sure we did not escape. The next morning, we were all taken to the main patrol station. Papá was told to follow the soldiers. We did not know where they had taken him.
Mother summoned all her courage and, with the little Italian she knew, persuaded one of the soldiers to take her to where Papá was. Later, Mother gave us an account of what happened next. After much discussion with Mother, the official put on his cape and white gloves, and tried to lock her in a room. Mother, however, quickly put her foot between the door and the doorframe so he could not close the door. Then she acted as though she was very frightened, arousing his protective instincts. He finally took her to the prison and what did she see? Papá was calmly playing cards with the only other inmate—a murderer!
Finally Papá was freed and the patrol officers led him back to the Alba Maris. We were very glad to see him! But the ordeal was not yet over. The Yugoslavian officers wanted Papá to go back to the patrol station to sign a paper. Certain that this was a trick, Papá told them to bring the paper to the boat. Miraculously they did! At this point, we were allowed to leave. I was the mechanic on board and tried to crank the engine, but it would not start. Again and again I tried. Finally after a few tries it started and we left the harbor. The mystery of the troublesome engine later became clear; Papá had put new filters in, but had forgotten to perforate them to let the fuel flow through. Little by little, we finally made it home. Of course, at the time the rest of the family at the house in Zara had no idea of what had happened.
Thus ended Maria’s account of their adventure.
While Papá, Mother, Maria, and Martina had their encounter with the Yugoslavian border patrol, I was at the house with Hedwig, Johanna, Rupert, Werner, Rosmarie, Lorli, the nanny, and the two teachers. It was Christmas Eve, and I was baking cookies. Earlier we had played Christmas carols on the record player. As the day went on and Papá and his crew did not come back as expected, we wondered what could have happened. We started to pray for their safety. There was nothing else we could do. Finally, to our great relief, we spotted the Alba Maris in the distance.
Upon their return to the house, we heard the whole hair-raising story. We then sang “Now Thank We All Our God.” After all this excitement, we had a wonderful Christmas together and remained in the rented house in Zara until April, at which time we returned to Aigen. We did not stay at home in Aigen for long. Soon Papá had an idea for another adventure.
In Salzburg the annual summer music festival brought music lovers and performers from all over the world. For two months, every July and August, music enthusiasts streamed into the city, and the hotels and guest houses were filled to the brim. Some visitors looked for large homes to rent where they could stay and entertain guests. Our house in Aigen, outside Salzburg, was perfect for this purpose.
During the summer of 1933, Papá decided to rent our house, with our servants included, to guests of the festival. The renters turned out to be the owners of the Weyerhaeuser Lumber Company of the United States. So where would our family go? It was a time of peace in Europe. Papá was lured by the thought of camping with us on the island of Veruda, off the coast of Italy in the Adriatic Sea.
Veruda was part of the territory that Papá knew so well from his younger years. Along the coast of the Adriatic Sea are strewn cities and towns dating back to the Roman Empire. In Pola, now Croatian but formerly an Austrian harbor, one can still find a well-preserved stadium and other ruins from Roman times.
In this mixture of cultures and population, Papá grew up. Fifteen years earlier, he had lived and worked there to defend his country. He had become acquainted with the local Italian dialect and native way of living. This area had changed after World War I, but the memory of a land of unique beauty remained. Papá remembered the blue skies and soft breezes from the south and the sweet fragrance of aromatic shrubs and herbs brought out by the noontime heat. He yearned to show all of us this wonderful place that he loved so much—the memories of which he silently carried in his heart. He arranged with his friend Mr. Pauletta, who owned a hardware store in Pola, for us to camp on his island, Veruda.
Papá had ordered tents, hammocks, and two folding boats from his cousin, who owned a tent and boating factory in Bavaria. Papá specified that the boats were to be made exceptionally strong; the rubberized canvas was to be seven times stronger than usual. Each boat was equipped with two sails, two paddles, seats for two, and a rudder.
When we were properly outfitted for our trip, Papá shipped our gear by train to Pola. He followed by car with our baggage, and the rest of us took the train to Pola. When we arrived, we went by rowboat the short distance to the island of Veruda.
The family—two parents and nine children—made quite a procession when we arrived with all of our camping gear. We settled on the south side of the island near a cluster of young pines, setting up our tents, hammocks, sleeping bags, and other camping equipment. This part of the island sloped down toward sea level. The entire hill was overgrown with small bushes, which the local people called “bosco.” Small as they were, the pines gave enough shade to protect us from the merciless midday sun.
Camp life was not a new experience for us, but camping on an island was. The only way to reach it was by boat. We could walk the circumference of the island in an hour, yet we did not feel confined there. Years before, Rupert and I had imagined living on an island and had wanted to build a raft. Now, the idea of life on an island became a reality for our family, at least for a few weeks!
In the northern part of Veruda high cliffs rose out of the sea. Only one water hole escaped from the ever-pounding surf upon the rocks, which made it perfect for swimming and diving. This spot, elevated high above the sea, gave us a magnificent view of the site that the monks had chosen for their monastery years ago. From its ruins, Mr. Pauletta built a summer cottage for his family. His wife and two daughters came there occasionally during the hottest summer days. Mrs. Pauletta once invited us to an Italian meal in their cottage. She not only cooked it but also, at Mother’s request, showed us how to make special fish dishes.
At night we gazed at the stars from our hammocks and listened to the waves lazily lapping the shore. From the sea came the smell of seaweed drying in the sandy bays. Way out at sea, fishermen’s songs drifted into our sleepy ears.
In the early morning ho
urs, a voice came across the bay. “Lattee-e-e-e…Lattee-e-e-e,” it called. Then “Pesch-e-e” and “Calamari…” Papá signaled that he wanted to buy milk and occasionally a fresh fish.
For all other commodities, we had to go by boat across the water. When we reached the land, we walked or rode our bicycles into Pola. On Sundays the family went to church there. Afterward, a cone of gelato (Italian sherbet) sweetened our return to the island in the hot midday sun.
We cooked over open fires with pots and pans that became black with soot. Soap did not dissolve in seawater, so we had to find a new method of cleaning the pots. We found the answer on the shore. It was not a box of Spic and Span floating on the water but shallow shells from the shore that were filled with calcium deposits. These shells were left by cuttlefish. We scraped the calcium off the shells and cleaned our pots and pans with the powdered calcium.
One day Papá announced that he would like to take a trip along the coast in our folding boats. Hedwig, Werner, and I signed up. Papá and Hedwig manned one boat; Werner captained the second one, with me as his sailor. It would become an unforgettable trip. Our folding boats glided along the coast of the Adriatic, and even though we were aware of the danger of the sharp rocks, which could puncture the canvas, we had no fear. Papá was an excellent sailor and knew the coast of Istria and Dalmatia like his own backyard, or as they say in Austria, “Wie seine Westentasche” (like the pocket of his vest). He knew every island by name and every hidden rock under water along the coast. He was familiar with each bay and even a freshwater stream that issued from the rocks at sea level.
I really learned to know Papá’s personality during our trip. He was daring but also cautious when necessary and quietly alert. His directions were specific, drawing upon his knowledge of every part of this area. Werner was just as alert and helpful. We sailed along in perfect harmony, with no fear or anxiety. The deep water was a safe place to be, so we stayed away from the rugged coast. Our first stop was at a freshwater spring. There we filled our containers with ice cold water. As the sun set, we arrived in a bay surrounded by high rocks, which was to be our overnight stopping place.
Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 11