Munich in winter, then south by bicycle through South Tyrol — and the splash of waves at Riva that recalled their banana plantation at Coffs Harbour — April 1901
These letters reflect the language, assumptions, and prejudices of the colonial era. Some passages contain descriptions of people that are deeply offensive by contemporary standards. This language is reproduced here exactly as printed, without softening, because these are historical primary source documents. It does not reflect the views of this website or its researcher.
Foreign Parts.
Salo, Sago-di-Garda, 2nd April, 1901.
Yours truly and companion have been silent in these columns for the reason that we have been travelling over the same ground from where we reported previously, and also in consideration of the over abundant material at the disposal of your press, so abundant and hard to digest, viz., Transvaal, China, pestilence, Commonwealth, and last, not least, the foul water and typhoid danger in Grafton, that we thought it better to be silent for a while with our reports from “Foreign Parts.” But should the humour of your readers agree to listen to the idyllic tune of our pastoral flute again, we will lay these leaves at your disposal.
When the grey breasted Arctic winter crows from Norway and Russia again visited the shores of the Weser River and North Sea, we lifted our wings and travelled by train southwards. Arrived at our friends in Munich for an intended stay of a few weeks, we found the newspapers full of reports of exceptionally cold weather in Italy. In Munich—which is much further towards the North Pole than Venice, Rome, or Naples, and about 2000ft. higher than these parts—we were able to enjoy a pot of beer in the “English garden” Munich on Christmas Day; therefore we resolved to stay here in the jolly, interesting, superb German city, instead of trying an icy winter in Italy, with its shaky antique windows, brick and stone floorings, faulty fire stoves, and expensive and life-dangerous charcoal fuel. In short, we took rooms in Munich all through the winter, which set in exactly on the first of January with such an enormous strength as never before the stereotype oldest inhabitants could recollect. It seems to both of us—wife and self—that, through the lengthy stay in Europe, we have become somewhat hardened. We resisted the intense cold very well, and the air, pure as it is in that westerly suburban part of Munich where we lived, at this great height above the ocean (about 2000ft.), is, although cold, very light and pure, much different to the air in the foggy, damp, heavy-aired lowlands of Northern Europe.
Already, as Australians, both of us well accustomed to the saddle, we have since our last letter in your valuable paper (last August) been riding on bicycles, and find on these excellent roads all through Europe the sensation of skimming over the ground, almost without effort, very agreeable and suitable to us.
In travelling we send our heavier luggage by rail far ahead. This heavier luggage consists of a saddlebag of oilcloth and a small portmanteau, which we can hang for transport from and to hotels and railway stations to our wheels, and when to be sent ahead by rail, we strap saddlebag and portmanteau together in one parcel, thereby reducing the freight. Our necessary travelling things we have partly strapped on our wheels and partly strapped in small mountain ruck-sacks on our backs.
Since our last letter we have been so overwhelmed by the manifold sights and observations in good old Europe that we must necessarily skip over it, and advise you, Mr. Editor, to take many instructive extracts and clippings out of that charming and true-to-life written new English novel “Three Men on the Brummel,” by Jerome K. Jerome, author of “Diary of a Pilgrimage,” etc., etc. We both of us subscribe to what is written in this book, and if your readers peruse its pages they will see things almost exactly as we have seen them.
When I was first in Munich, forty-four years ago, a young man of 19 years, the art of skating was scarcely known in these parts of rushing mountain torrents, which never are bound down by skatable ice. But in the alluvial river flats of the Friesland coasts of the North Sea we could skate on long straight skates on the endless inundated plains. At present in Munich, on the Hesselohe Lake and on the artificial skating places on the Bavaria Park, the ice is nearly all the winter through crowded with skaters on short rounded skates, males and females of all classes and ages, from the fur-capped urchin to the grey-haired, enormous, fat bier-nob; from the tiny, flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked maiden to the wrinkled, smiling, warm-hooded old dame—all busy enjoying in the sharp, light, sunny air this healthful exercise on the ice.
The last year’s summer lasted exceptionally long, and so does this winter. I had the foreboding that for this high tableland of South Bavaria all the disagreeable winter was not over; but when on 18th March a very warm wind from south-east made the first bushes sprout, and the roads were dry and clean, we packed up and set off southwards, wheels and all. We went by train to Brixen (South Tyrol), at the beginning of the southern slope of the Alps, south of the Bremer Pass, from where the tributaries of the wild Isach River, which lower down on the Lombardian plains flow into the Adige River, run southward.
As the waters from Brixen flow south, the mountain roads slope in the same direction. In Brixen we strapped our luggage well together, labelled it carefully, and then forwarded it per express to Riva, on the Garda Lake. Then we mounted our steel horses and rode through the most lovely landscape we ever saw. The route via Bozen, Trient, Rovereto lies along a beautiful broad and fertile valley, with gigantic snow-capped mountains on both sides, and every moment presents a fresh panorama to view of beautiful water-falls falling from a giddy height, ragged ravines and precipices, and many romantic ruins of old, old castles perched sometimes on the most inaccessible heights, and lower in the valley a broad stream flowing smoothly and silently along. We had a good supply of eatables, and a wine flask or bottle exactly the shape of a big revolver to scare the natives if they molested us (it is not allowed to carry firearms in Italy). When the country became very beautiful and interesting we would take a spell and refresh ourselves. On the second day of our ride we stayed the night in Trient, in the “Albergo Sol d’oro,” or “Golden Sun Hotel.” Trient is a very ancient, romantic old town, and is mostly peopled by Italians, although it belongs to Austria. The language is Italian. We were much struck by its most picturesque old Church towers, castles—now mostly in ruins—and its many arched-over and narrow, crooked streets and piazzas, or market squares, where it is the custom during the mid-day siesta and evenings for most of the men and children of the town to collect, lounge about, gossip, and play.
On the third evening we arrived at Riva, and heard the splash of the sea waves again, which reminded us of our dear home near our banana plantation at Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia.
After a few days’ stay in this most lovely spot on the mountainous northern point of the Garda Lake, we took the steamer to this little town Salo, on the west coast of the Lake. The shores are here quite level, and have excellent roads; we can spin in all directions when weather permits, which just now has grown somewhat moist, and forces us to remain in our rooms to-day.
In the daily papers from Munich, laid out in the cafes here, we see that after our departure from that city the frost-weather has in South Bavaria and Tyrol set in with renewed vigor, in spite of the greater power of the sun, which at present, after the equinox, reaches a considerable height again. In these parts of Europe—Italy included—a late and severe winter has its way. Many sub-tropical plants and eucalyptus trees (which have been, during late years, much cultivated as prevention against malarial fevers), and by their respectable size prove to be of good age and resisted hitherto very well the winters of Italy, have now altogether, with dracaenas, yuccas, agavas, cycades, plums, and all orange and lemon trees, unsheltered by glass houses, received a decided death-blow.
The grand pensions and lordly hotels here at Gardone, Fasana, and Maderno are all inconveniently over-crowded. People pay high money, and walk about the wet streets in their fashionable costumes and delicate high-heeled shoes amongst the ragged and begging natives. It is too wet to go excursions to mountains, on the lake, or with wheels. We took two furnished rooms (bed and sitting room) here in Salo for the simple sum of 15 lira for a fortnight. Mrs. R. cooks our morning coffee at home on a spirit lamp, and we dine in the many good restaurants here well for about 1s for us both, good wine included. Our room is on the sunny side, and over-looking the Lake, with steps leading down to a landing for little rowing boats; and contains two wire spring-mattrass beds, easy chair, grand writing table, half-dozen chairs, drawers, dining table, 2 wash-stands, curtains, green shutters, etc., etc. 15 lira is about 10s, or 5s per week.
About the middle of this month, April, we intend going via Brescia to Milan, and from there to Como, Bellinzona, Locarno, along the Lago-di-Maggiore to Brig, Geneva, Lausanne, through Switzerland, down the Rhine River to Holland, then back to the homely old Weser River, whereon is Bremen, whose enormous, comfortable, cheap, giant steamers travel all over the Globe, and also home to sunny Australia.
This is a transcription of the original newspaper text. Readers are encouraged to verify against the Trove source image linked above.