Vacation Wishes
TAKE ME WITH YOU! TAKE ME WITH YOU!
… we’d shout at the top of our lungs whenever a plane used to fly over our valley. Back then. Those were the wild ’60s. When hippies took the world by storm. And Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin moved crowds at the Woodstock Festival. All over the world. With one exception: Balderschwang. It was quiet there. Very quiet, in fact. Some months, the mailman would come in the morning. That was the highlight of the day. After that, it was quiet again. Back then—that was the time when people would play Schafkopf, Ludo, Monopoly, and so on for hours on end, day after day. Back then—that was the time when music was listened to on black, round discs. Played on a large machine called a gramophone. We, too, listened to the Stones, the Beatles, and the Bee Gees in this mountain village. Our connection to the rest of the “modern” world. And the mushroom cuts on our heads were an expression of our desire to be part of it, too. The “old folks” just shook their heads at it. Back then—that was the time when cars still had shapes and curves. And the valley was an enclave, accessible only via Austria to reach the motherland. Making a living was partly legal, partly illegal. It was a matter of survival. Later, with the construction of the mountain pass road, mobility came to the valley, bringing relief. Because the harassing checks by the gendarmes finally came to an end.
AND TODAY…?
There’s a change in the air—our mobility is high on the list of priorities. We still see the mail carrier today, too. But now he’s out every day, loaded down with mail and usually in a hurry. The “old-timer” used to be called the “pot-lid lifter” because he always knew what was cooking where. His appearance was just as plump as you’d expect. And he’d keep us informed about the day’s most important events—over food and drink. The “social games” have changed. From 3 a.m. to 8:88 p.m., guests sit in the lobby, enthusiastically staring blankly at small rectangular devices. Often for long periods, almost motionless. How delighted I am when I see someone sitting in the lobby, deeply engrossed in a thick literary work. Today, almost all cars look the same; their horsepower figures are far beyond the two-digit range of earlier generations. The mountain pass has been perfectly and safely upgraded; you cruise through the Alpine landscape, driving high-horsepower Audis, BMWs, Mercedes, Porsches, and the like. The fit classic-car driver opens his convertible top and enjoys the fresh Allgäu mountain air (and the exhaust fumes from the car in front) from his 1954 911, which still lacks a catalytic converter. The mountain biker pants as he rides alongside, having missed the turnoff for the scenic nature trail through the shady forest. The valley residents’ livelihoods have given way almost 100 percent to the money-driven tourism industry. Here, one must be careful that the path of this level of “tourism” doesn’t veer off toward the wrong side of the valley and come crashing down. A bridge at the summit of the Riedberg Pass with a load capacity of 48 metric tons, a tunnel widening to ensure that two buses can easily pass each other—all of this is funded by EU or state grants. But what is the price we pay for it?
LET ME BE, I’D LIKE TO SHOUT…
After all, don’t we need places of refuge and tranquility in these stressful times? Places where nature takes center stage, far away from the polluted air, stench, and exhaust fumes of urban areas? Shouldn’t we, if only because this high valley lies in the heart of the Nagelfluh Nature Park, take drastic measures here to preserve and protect both nature and people? These are my thoughts. On the drive to go ever higher and farther. On the overdevelopment of the Alpine valleys, including my own. And on a counter-movement. Toward mindfulness. Toward being “Om-line.”
