In Foreign Parts
Cycling Over the Alps

In Foreign Parts.

Cycling Over the Alps.

The following description of the cycling tour over the Alps made by Mr. and Mrs. Rieck, Coff’s Harbour, will be read with interest :—

We could not leave Bavaria without again visiting that most interesting, now world-renowned, village, Oberammergau. We went this time on cycles from Weilheim. We rode 19 kilometres to Murnau, which is a rising town on the little Staffel Lake, and now very popular for tourists in the hot summer time. Turning to the right the road leads 16 kilometres up a deep level valley, with precipitous mountains on each side, until we could see the Zug Spitz peak, still with masses of snow in its crevices. At the village of Oberau we turned and climbed about 8 miles over a steep mountain range which brought us to Estal Church, Convent, and Brewery, which has been much enlarged since our last visit in 1900. (In 1900 the Estal Church had just been purchased by a kindly Protestant gentleman and presented as a gift back to its former owners, the Benedictine monks of Estal.) Another 6 kilometres brought us to Oberammergau, which we found more beautiful than previously, and grown almost double its former size. It is one of the beauty spots of Bavaria, and is always thronged with tourists. Many fine new houses have been built, and already preparations are being made for the next “Passion Plays,” to be performed in 1910. We preferred to lodge in Unterammergau, so rode 4 kilometres further on, and sought out our old farm house, with its good people, who heartily welcomed us again, and could not do enough to make us comfortable. These people, besides farming and cattle breeding, are timber-getters. The high mountains around are covered with a dense growth of timber, which is cut down in winter and conveyed down the dangerous heights by sledges. Therefore they would fare badly without their snow and ice roadways. The villagers have also certain rights when landowners. By paying a small tax they can have free firewood and the right to run a certain number of cows on the Alpen Alms pasturage during the summer months.

It is a sight worth seeing to see these strapping healthy sons and daughters of these mountain people, with their honest, kindly and friendly faces and manners. The Oberammergau people have entirely given up farming, live almost entirely on the tourists and proceeds of the celebrated “Passion Plays.” They are celebrated carvers in wood, and other little art industries, which sell at good prices to visitors. We spent the day looking round, enjoyed the lovely mountain scenery, and chatted with its friendly inhabitants, and then had a splendid run back down the mountain and reached home (Weilheim) next day.

In olden times in Bavaria all land and house property belonged to the nobility, and the Roman Catholic Church and Convents, until the Government seized these grounds and sold them to the people. Besides the old-fashioned Convent, Andechs, near Ammer Lake, the celebrated old Convent Polling, 4 kilometres from Weilheim, was also subdivided. The rich cultivation and pasture lands are now owned by thriving farmers, and the extensive Convent building forms part of a brewery owned by a gentleman named Mr. Streicher. This well-known gentleman has amassed millions by the sale of best Lager beer, and has recently converted a part of the old Convent into a residence for himself and family. We happened to be introduced to him, as we were often to be found in his beer garden in the beautiful summer evenings. He invited us to spend an afternoon with himself and family, which we gladly accepted. Some of the grand old halls have been painted and decorated, heated by steam pipes, and furnished in simple but costly magnificence, tastefully fitting these interesting ancient buildings; but the “show place” in this highly valuable and venerable building is a long, lofty hall, called the “library,” which is as large as a church, with costly paintings on ceilings and walls, and rare stone carvings. This library was once completely filled with volumes of literature, but these have all been placed in the Government and University libraries of Munich. The kindly Nuns and Sisters of Mercy have not been driven away, but occupy space enough in the immense old building for their schools and works of charity. The real Nuns, always dressed in white garments, can sometimes be [seen] walking in the extensive private gard[en] adjoining.

The stables are full of beautiful cows and finest horses, and Herr Streicher really enjoys entertaining and showing his friends the beauties of the place. He said to us it was to him and his family like having a visit from another world to hear from us descriptions of Australia and Australian life. The cows around Weilheim please us better than any we have seen in Europe. On the rich river flats of the Weser big-framed, humpy black and white belted cattle are bred (called in Australia belted Hollands), almost excluding all other kinds; but here are to be found the silky, sleek, fine-skinned Alderney kind (called here, since olden times, Tyrolese cows), of rich yellow, mouse, or dim colour, but bred up to a fine stature from a butcher’s point of view, without losing their excellent milk qualities. Here are very fine oxen to be seen, which are employed principally for carting. Very few horses are used here for heavy work.

We have tried again and again to procure a recipe of the best Swiss or Ementhaler cheese for our many interested readers on the North Coast, but in vain. The best butter here and in Switzerland is not so tasty and agreeable to us as Australian butter, because there is no salt mixed in it.

Summer being over, and autumn following with short days and chilly nights, we decided to go south of the Alps to warmer regions. We left Weilheim on a dull, cold morning on 22nd August, and cycled via Murnau, Oberau, and 10 miles further to Partenkirchen and Garmisch. Just before turning off towards Garmisch we entered a pretty wooden-topped rustic wayside hotel, with beautifully carved balconies, for dinner. Two royal drags, with four-in-hand teams, with coachmen and grooms, had just arrived, and were unharnessing in the yard. We were told that Prince Regent Luitpold of Bavaria would arrive there by train next day, to hunt stags in the royal park close by. The old Prince is now 85 years of age, and is still so active that he can enjoy hunting. After a hearty meal we rode on to Garmisch, which lies at the foot of the Zug Spitz mountain, and is with Partenkirchen at present the most popular bathing place and summer resort in Bavaria. We were told that 1100 tourists were then in Garmisch. From here out tours are made to the highest Alpen peaks in Tyrol; the Zug Spitz particularly, which is a most risky, high and dangerous mountain to climb. From the main road we could see the shelter house recently built on its heights. A cogwheel railway is now being constructed to the top, but when that is ready this mountain will have no attraction for courageous young mountain climbers, who will only venture the most break-neck and hazardous heights. The Zug Spitz is 10,000ft. high. We are content to view these mountain peaks from the bottom upwards, as we look at the expensive luxurious hotels from the outside only.

Ten kilometres from Garmisch we arrived at the Customs House on the boundary between the German Empire and Austria. Not being members of the Tourists’ Cycle Club we had to deposit £5 for our two cycles, which amount was returned to us again when we crossed the boundary into Italy. Close to the Customs House is a forester’s lodge, where refreshments can be had. In winter it is lonely here and desolate, almost all traffic in these high icy parts being stopped; but in summer this, the most beautiful of Tyrol passes (the Fern Pass) is thronged with tourists, travelling by coach, carts, motors, cycles, and on foot. We are now in the pass surrounded by wild mountains covered by dense timber, and travel beside the rocky bed of the swiftly flowing river Loisach. The roads are well kept, and run upwards in zig-zag, and are not too steep for cycling. At 5 o’clock we reach a lonely wayside inn called Schange, where we put up for the night, having ridden our average number of 70 kilometres per day. It still being early, and very cold, we put on all extra wraps, and as the evening was clear, calm, and lighted by a full moon, took a walk to see the two most lovely peaks in this pass, called the Sonnenspitze or Suntop. It was a charming sight to see the setting sun colouring the tapering points of these two towering rocky giant peaks, where no vegetation can be seen, and certainly no human being has ever set his foot.

Next morning we got away in good time, crossed the Loisach River, and came to a low tu[?mound], [?—] a seldom occurrence on [?such ground,] is said to be the [b]ed of [a] volcano. He[re] the road [on the rig]ht lies the village of Ehr-wald; and on the other side of the moor li[es] Bieberwier.

We went through Ehrwald, which is a rough scattered, but picturesque, little village, with a wonderful old-fashioned church tower, architectural public buildings, and roomy timber built and carved ornamented farmhouses. In the background the giant old Suntop Peaks tower up above the clouds, the whole giving a view seldom to be surpassed. Here we posted the usual post cards, and rode on to Bieberwier. At this village we stopped to inspect a piece of land with a little cottage, which we saw advertised for sale. The place was utmost cheap, but so beautiful as this spot is to travel through in the height of summer, it makes one shudder to think of living amongst these enormous mountain walls in winter, buried up to the housetops in snow. We proceeded on our journey without another thought about making a home here. We passed a small lake which lies deep down in a ravine. The neighbourhood is dark, solemn, and unhomely, and it was comforting to see a little sailing boat on the dark, cruel-looking waters. We had to walk a steep ascent of the road, and presently passed another such dark, glassy, unhomely lake, called the “Blind Sea.” This lake lies even deeper down in the wild, treacherous-looking basin, and even one short step from the main road would precipitate an unfortunate traveller down thousands of feet into unknown depths. We hastened along always close to the River Loisach, and overshadowed by the Wetterstein Mountains, till in about 25 kil. we reached the friendly heights and top of the beautiful Fern Pass. We arrived here quite fresh, but noticed in an exhausted state four young gentlemen cyclists. We greeted them, and found them to be students from England and America, who tired out entirely with the long, stiff climb from Innsbruck up the Fern Pass, were lying flat out, and anxiously inquired if there were any more such hills to get up. We promised them easy grades and charming scenery, and left them more hopeful and happy. We found a pretty tourists’ hotel and restaurant close to a romantic old ruined castle, called Seigmundsburg. The charming little Fernstein Castle is also in the vicinity, which was erected and sometimes occupied by King Louis I. of Bavaria. Here in view is another of those deep, green-coloured lakes, but as the valley now widens, and the glowing sun shines on it, it has a warm, friendly, and picturesque aspect. In front of Castle Fernstein, spanning a deep ravine, is a fine iron bridge, where a splendid view of Castle, ruins, mountains, lake, and river is to be had. We rested and stood long on the bridge amongst groups of tourists, studying nature, and also mankind. A group of Berlin tourists were like a group of young horses just let loose out of stables. With their long mountain sticks and ice axes, with heavy knapsacks and cloaks strapped on their shoulders, they jumped, laughed, talked, and sang, or howled dismally when trying to imitate the musical “Godel,” or echo song of the Alpen cowboys. Another group consisted of a rich old Israelite from Vienna, with his motor, chauffeur, Roman-nosed stout wife, and elderly photograph-taking daughter. Next came a pedestrian group of fresh pretty young ladies from Chemnitz, telegraph operators and teachers, with whom we chatted when we met them later in the pretty little verandah restaurant by the roadside, where we stopped for lunch. With a last lingering look at the fair scenery, we mounted reluctantly, and now sped like the wind down the steep winding inclines. Ten kil. brought us to the town of Nassereit. We were agreeably surprised at the warmth felt directly we were over the Alpen Pass. We rejoiced to be, as we thought, over the mountain, but found, further down, the steepest hills to be gone over.

From Ibsteig up, almost to Telfs, we had an almost perpendicular road to climb up. The sun blazed down on us, and we were as thirsty as horses when we came to the village of Ihermeining, where the usual town fountain, the blessing to thirsty cyclists, supplied us with cool, fresh splendid mountain water, and then we sped down the incline, which leads right down to Innsbruck, about 35 kil. At Telfs a very rich valley spreads out, through which runs the River Inn. A railway also runs through it up to the town of Imst. Splendid crops of grain, especially maize, were just blossoming or tasseling; but here the maize is topped for fodder for cattle and stripped of all green blades, when the cobs only are left on the stalk to ripen. We rode along the Inn River, with the grand old Martin’s Wand Mountain on our left, until the setting sun found us in the pretty village of Zirl, 12 miles from Innsbruck. After a wash and change we walked round the town, took a well earned substantial supper, and turned in well satisfied with this our never-to-be-forgotten tour over the Tyrolese Fern Pass.

We reached Innsbruck early on 24th August, and found this venerable metropole of Tyrol, as usual in summer, crowded with tourists from all quarters of the globe. We found some old acquaintances here, but our Australian friend, Mr. Bruckner, was no more. At 2 o’clock we took the railway train over the Brenner Pass, where the gigantic Alp Mountains were still covered with snow, and winding in and out and round the highest peaks, past towns of Matrei, Brenner, Sterzing, Duxer Jach, all the prettiest and most romantic of villages, we arrived in Francesteste, where a strong modern fortification protects this pass against any possible invader from the south. We reached Brixen at sunset, slept again, after seven years, in the ancient “Lion Hotel,” and next day cycled 40 kil. into Bozen in four hours. This same journey, which we travelled on foot in 1900, took us then almost three days. We found this, by nature beautifully endowed, town Bozen, by art immensely improved, and made most inviting to tourists, from which it mostly exists. Grand new museums, paved streets, gardens, and parks are built, and a charming promenade, planted mostly with tropical plants, trees and ferns, extends far along each side of the River Telt. A recently built cogwheel railway brings the invalid or lazy tourist up on to a neighbouring mountain, from where an outlook tower commands lovely views of wild mountain scenery and vine clad hills. We visited our old favourite spots, walking through beautiful vineyards to the town of Gries, with vines all trained in trellised walks, completely covering the ground. This unique mode of vine cultivation extends from Brixen, Bozen and Meran far down into Italy. The grapes are large and sweet, but the vines have to be sprayed with Paris green every year. Apples and pears are scarce and dear in all parts of Germany this year in consequence of a cold summer; but here they are, with apricots, peaches, figs, watermelons, rockmelons, etc., to be found in great profusion.

On Sunday evening, 25th August, we had the unusual pleasure of viewing a really rare and beautiful Alpen sunset. While resting on the grand promenade the setting sun lit up that side of the mountain, called “The Rosen Garden,” with the loveliest changing views of purple, violet, and rose colours, until the whole looked like a veritable “rose garden,” so often pictured by artists, but seldom or rarely seen by tourists. After a day and a half’s rest in Bozen, we got an early start with our cycles on 27th August for Garda Lake, a distance of 110 kil. to the Italian border. For several hours we rode in the shadow of the high mountain ranges to the east, but at 9 o’clock a cloudless dark-blue sky and a burning sun blazed down on us, and clouds of dust swept along. We passed through one dirty Italian-speaking village after another, and looked in vain for the pretty little vine-covered verandahs, which we found there in the spring of 1901. This once favourite delightful road for cyclists and foot tourists is completely ruined by the stinking dust-scattering motor carriages. If the poor people sit outside, or in their gardens, they are covered with repeated whirlwinds of dust by these frequent passing pestiferous machines, so they are forced to stay in their hot stone houses. In most of the villages of this mountainous high country there was a shortage of water, owing to an exceptionally dry summer. In one little village about 20 women with tubs and buckets stood round a slowly-flowing public fountain, waiting their turn to fill their utensils; but they kindly made room for us to come and fill our drinking cups, with the remark “Troppo caldo” (very hot). We had to drink wine mixed with warm sodawater, with bread and cheese for lunch, as tea is not to be had in Italian villages, and reached Trient (61 kil.) about 2 o’clock. Here we rested under a fine grove of shady trees for an hour. The country between Bozen and Riva belongs to Austria, but it has an Italian population. Recently, as often occurs on the boundary of these countries, a quarrel ensued which could have ended more seriously. A procession of about 40 young men athletes from Bozen and Meran, took train to one of these beauty spots, with the object of a long walk across the country to take train for home at Trient. On the route, for some unknown reason, they were very unfriendly treated by the people. They were insulted, mobbed, and pelted with stale fruit and eggs, and for a time were forced to seek protection in a wayside building. At every village the mob collected more. After a long parley the Italians promised not to trouble the party if no pistols were fired again.

The Italians of Garda Lake and North Italy deplore this exhibition of enmity very much, because it keeps thousands of tourists away, and as it is hereabouts a very poor country, the population live almost entirely on the tourists; but a lazy pack of lazaronis deplore the increasing prices of victuals through the influx of tourists of foreign nations (English, Germans, etc.). We had been riding mostly down hill all day, and had it comparatively easy, except for the tropical heat and dry, dusty roads, which tired us somewhat; but we rode on through Rovereto, where the valley spreads out, and better cultivation fields are to be seen. Besides vineyards and fruit, grain, maize, tobacco, hemp and white mulberry, for silkworm industry, are to be found. We reached the dry, desolate desert, rocky but very picturesque, country and town of Mori, 10 kil. from Riva, thus breaking our record number of kilometres for this journey by making just 100 kilometres for the day. The road into Riva from Mori, is very hilly, also in places dangerous, and on some parts cyclists are forbidden to ride. We decided to do the next 10 kil. by daylight, and enjoy the lovely views of the beautiful dark blue Garda Lake. On reaching Riva next day we were disappointed that, as in Bozen, our former two hosts, both young men, had died. We almost wonder to find ourselves so very much alive, and possessing such rude health and energy, to enjoy performing such a long journey by wheel from Munich to Genoa. Riva is unchanged, except for a few modern hotels and dwelling houses built on the road to the popular Kurort Arco. We rested most of the day, ate great quantities of fruit, which is here utmost cheap, got our money, 25, from Austrian Customs, and paid 70 francs 60 centimes into the Italian Customs Office for our two wheels. Next morning, 29th August, took tickets per steamer to travel to the other end of the Garda Lake. When passing our favourite charming little villages on the banks of this beautiful lake: Limone, Maderno, Tuscolano, Jardone, Tasana, and Salo, with their enormous hot or shade houses full of orange trees, which have to be sheltered by glass in winter, but are open to the sun in summer, we were pleased to see great progress. A railway runs now along the west side of the lake, and many decayed old houses have given place to fine stone buildings, and at Salo a new street forms now a boulevard, where formerly the houses stood close to the edge of the lake. We left the boat at Decanyano, and set out for Milan. We had seldom in Europe experienced such a burning tropical heat as on that day. The steam rose in vapour all over the lake, and on the land the chalk stone metalled road lay half a foot deep in dust. After mounting a steep hill for some miles we found gangs of men scraping off the dust and carefully watering the road. The road was also fenced with strong post and wire fences on each side for at least 30 kil., and in all the villages “grand stands” extended, like bridges, high over the main road.

We soon learned that on 1st and 2nd September great motor races were to be held, running from the city of Brescia to Lonato, near Garda Lake. Immense preparations were being made in Brescia for the event. Tickets for grand stands were advertised at 5 to 10 francs each, and enclosures at 2 to 3 francs. The road was very lively with passing motors coming from all parts of the Kingdom. After passing through the fine city of Brescia we came into the richest and best watered country that is to be seen. Extending for hundreds of kilometres is a rich flat country splendidly irrigated. The water can be easily regulated. Large fields are surrounded by fruit trees and bushes, or by mulberry trees for silkworm culture. The fields, surrounded by ditches of fresh running water, are cultivated mostly with rice and maize. The rice fields were in ear, and some ripening, standing about 3ft. high, like wheat, but nearly always swamped in water. They were really a sight worth seeing. A new canal has been made from Milan far out past Gorgonzola, in the direction of Brescia, and big barges, drawn by horses, are constantly passing up and down. We stayed one night at Gorgonzola, which is celebrated for its particularly rich, green veined cheeses (known in England as Chester cheese). Gorgonzola has now five large cheese factories. We did not see any cows out of the stables, but where such wonderfully rich grass, lucerne, etc., grows, forced by any quantity of manure and so well irrigated, the richest of milk can be produced. We reached Milan just ten days after leaving Weilheim, and stayed there for a week.

In a contribution to the “C. and R. Examiner” a few years ago we described the highly interesting town of Milan, the metropole of Lombardy; we only state that we also found here a sound progress. That the commerce is not only limited by the Italian people to nations who speak their own tongue is manifested by the fact that we found in one of the principal streets of this city, in a store window, exhibited the products of the Ramornie Meat Works (Clarence River). In the description of our journey (above mentioned) through Italy, across the Alpine heights of the Simplon Pass, down along Rhone and Rhine Rivers to Amsterdam, we mentioned the grand alluvial plains of Lombardy. The main river therein is the Po (pronounced Poh) which is now shut up at its upper course, and its waters are, through a very clever system of irrigation, spread all over this enormous rich plain, the crossing of which, from the town of Brescia to Milan, on wheels took us about one week.

Going to Pavia and Alezzandria the ground begins to rise towards the Apennine Mountains in the west, and here we found no grain, but mostly wine, cultivated, not in the German and French style, but on a kind of trellis, as everywhere in Italy. Underneath these trellises grow luxuriantly all kinds of vegetables, melons, pumpkins, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, cabbage, etc., etc., while on trees ripen figs, apricots, peaches, oranges, marones, pears, etc., etc.

This country would surely be a veritable paradise in spite of the great heat, which is generally about 100 deg. Fahr., if the motor cars did not exist. It is a great pity that the romantic and charming travelling along the highways of these countries—which almost appeared to be awakening again by the help of the tricycles—is, also in these lovely parts, ruthlessly murdered by the increasing use of the stinking dust-whirling motor cars. The charming rests under the cosy wayside verandahs in front of the Italian osteriaz is past for ever. These verandahs have disappeared almost entirely, and only the sultry inside of these village houses give shelter against the everlasting dust clouds, blown about by those “town elegants” taking the fresh air of the country.