16. Castellani to Salzburg

Saturday 11 April.  Chianti in Castellani to Salzburg, Austria.  Salzburg City Novotel, Franz Josef Strasse.  We leave at 9:30 in the morning and arrive in Salzburg, a drive of about 450 miles, at about half past 6.  It is a beautiful drive after we pass the flat plains of the Po, and head into a valley with mountains on both sides and vineyards on the slopes.  We pass through Trento and I am reminded of the Council of Trent, so important to my Catholic religion.  I love the roadside cafes with their stand-up full bars.  The scenery is dramatic in Austria, especially coming into to Innsbruck.  After Innsbruck, we come down into the green German countryside before going back into Austria not far from Salzburg.  The money exchanges are getting confusing.  There is a big traffic jam near Salzburg.  The Austrians seem easy going.  We check into the hotel, then take a walk downtown, through a park where the children can run around for awhile.  Dinner is at the hotel, accompanied by, what else, beer.

Out of the Car: At Last!

Salzburg

A Walk in the Park, Salzburg

Sunday 12 April.  Salzburg to Munchen, Germany.  Drei Lowen, Schillerstr.  It is Palm Sunday and we attend mass at the cathedral, then take the funicular up to the Castle on the mountain overlooking all of Salzburg and the surrounding countryside and mountains.  It is the most beautiful day of our trip, clear with snow on the nearby Alps; the countryside is green.  We take a tour of the Castle, built by a bishop long ago, then enjoy the sunshine on the deck, with beers and cokes.  When we come back down, we tour the Mozart house and museum.  We leave Salzburg at about four forty and arrive in Munchen a little less than two hours later, a 95 mile trip.  We have two rooms on the second floor, far apart.  We eat dinner at the hotel and I call Brian around 11:30 p.m. to talk about taxes.

Salzburg Castle

*  *  *  *  *

 Palm Sunday.   10 a.m.  Novotel, Salzburg.  These past few days I have felt waves of depression, anguish.  Sometimes I feel it's attributable to my feelings and thoughts concerning God, sometimes perhaps more regarding my life.  The long journal entry Wednesday or Thursday night was an expression of this.

 My strongest feelings of dread, uncertainty and discomfort were returning home from Firenze on Friday, and yesterday driving out of Italy.  Situations take my mind off of it.  Friday it was the terrific dinner we had at La Toppa in San Donato.  The owner made us feel right at home.  He ordered for us, though it was too much!  Three orders of pasta, then chicken and steak and dessert.  Brought us La Toppa wine and gave us a bottle with a kiss for Cathy when we left.  He pulled up a chair to our table and lit a cigarette.  Thomas gave him an ashtray.  He showed us pictures of his trip to New York (snow in April, end of March).

 The best restaurant owners make you feel at home, as if they were your long lost friend, share everything with you.  (I think I could be a good owner, but too much effort to be happy all the time!)  Anyway, the commotion and the good company dispelled my anxiety.

Yesterday, after a fitful night's sleep dreaming of pasta, the anxiety started to return again as we headed north.  No doubt something of the feeling has to do with spending all this money.  (Yesterday I thought for the first time, "You're too old to be doing this!")  I began to sink deeper into an abyss, wondering if I could keep my mind on driving.  What else could I do?

It occurred to me that here at almost 42, I was undergoing a feeling/process much like what I experienced when I was almost 21, in the spring of 1971.  Anxiety and questions about my life which have no cure in the sense of answers.  The only cure is death, the certainty of it.  Until then we can only guess.  What I was experiencing was almost like nausea in a psychological sense: waves of sickness that come and go for awhile until the bug passes, which it finally did, as the scenery became more and more dramatic in northern Italy.  The pass with grapes and fruits between two high walls of mountains.  Trento.  Then into Austria with a border crossing, remembering to get some schillings, beautiful Innsbruck, pit stops, conversion rates, German border, beautiful green (spring not here yet, compared to Trent where it seemed advanced), beautiful rivers: Adige in N. Italy, the Po, huge and further south, Inn in Austria, the Austrian border again.

Notes: Mara locking herself and Thomas into the bathroom at La Toppa.  Thomas upset, Mara a cool panic.  We finally had the key slipped under the door, the owner helped.  He didn't speak English very well, probably as well as I speak Italian.  Thomas on the dirt road to Villa no. 13: "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a bumpy ride."  Thomas no longer says, "Jood" (as in good) or "j'morning" for "good morning" nor does he say "yawl" for "all."  He still does say, "e" for "we," as in "e are going."

To pick up my thread again: last night I had a dream in which I tossed and turned, too hot in the room.  I dreamt I lost money and traveller's cheques and my favorite cologne.  I wasn't distraught at the loss, but could not believe that I had lost them.  Where had they gone?  It didn't make any sense that I could have misplaced them.  Finally I found them in Robert's wallet, which had been lost, or perhaps Robert had taken them.  Something like that.  I forget; but I hoped that by finding them I would at last sleep better after I awoke and tossed off some covers.

When I went back to sleep, I was tired and weary and I dreamt I was sort of like St. John, the beloved disciple, and I wanted nothing more that to lay my head on Jesus' bosom and be comforted by Him.  I thought, this is what I have been searching for.  Perhaps a grace of some kind.  Who knows, but it was a peaceful, good feeling, like a child on his mother's breast.

I thought yesterday that perhaps this is a growth stage (Throwing off the old?  Coming into new stages?) one goes through every 20 or 21 years or so.  Next will be 63.  At first I thought this time was the worst.  It felt worse, just because I was in the midst of it, but I know more now.  I can also imagine how at 63 temptations come to induce you to do strange things and feel depressed.  Was it my father a few years ago?  Was he 63 or so, when we all thought he was so depressed at times?

Thinking the other day that Jesus must have had doubts about his mission, his identity, his relationship with God and his death; but, of course, because that is part of being human!  Whether it was only at Gethsemene we can only surmise.

Another idea: all my ramblings are occasioned by nothing deeper that something Stendahl noticed a hundred odd years ago: seeing all the art in Firenze (and to that I add Roma) can occasionally leave one with something akin to a feeling of helplessness and depression.