Bischofsreut

Should I go through Guttenhofen, or press on to Niederpretz?

The question had me in a tizzy as we sped in our rental car past places like Waldkirchen, Freyung and Schwarzental to get to the tiny village of Bischofsreut, the hometown of my great-grandmother Antonia Madl and our relatives that live their still, Leo and Heddi Kornegger.

Though Antonia left with her family for America over a century ago, my Grandpa Bichelmeyer stayed in good contact with his cousins in Bischofsreut through letters and periodic visits, and in 2000 he we traveled there with my dad and uncles. I'd exchanged letters with our Bavarian cousins before, but never had the chance to visit until last month. Not surprisingly, the visit proved to be one of the most fun parts of our trip.

We arrived in the early afternoon and were immediately greeted by plates of homemade schnitzel, bratkartoffeln and fizzy glasses of limonade. After lunch, we spent an hour or so looking through Heddi's meticulously kept folder of letters, photos and cards her American family members have sent over the years. I pointed out family members in the photos, one of them a group wedding portrait in which I was just a baby. "Klein aber oho," Leo said with a laugh. Small but great.


After that we took a tour through the town of several hundred, stopping at the old schoolhouse, the Catholic church and the small cemetery behind it that overlooks the valley.

Bischofsreut, which celebrated its 300th anniversary in 2005, is not a place you'd likely stumble upon. Part of the "Dreilaendereck" (three nations corner), the town lies deep in the Bavarian Forest along the German-Czech border, with Austria only a few dozen kilometers away. The area is part of the "Goldener Steig" (golden climb), a trade route that facilitated the transport of salt from the Danube towns of Linz and Passau on into Bohemia.


One thing I found fascinating about the town is that until 1989, no travel between Czech and Bavarian towns was permitted, even though most of the land you can see from the hills of Bischofsreut belongs to what was then Czechoslovakia. I asked Leo what was to stop someone from just sneaking through the densely forested hills and into the other side. Not much, he said, if you could get past a 4-meter-tall, 20,000 volt electrical fence and guards with machine guns who would shoot you on sight.


Leo and Heddi's place overlooks the Bohemian side of the forest, and they told us that during the cold war years American troops would park their jeep beside the house and use the vantage point to spy on their Eastern neighbors. On especially cold nights, the Korneggers would offer the soldiers hot drinks and a place to warm up next to the fire.

The snow gets so high in winter, Heddi said, that you can't imagine it unless you see it for yourself. Houses get buried in snow up to the second floor, and the abundant stockpiles of wood are drawn on heavily during those months. Even though most of the houses have gas heating, it's more economical to keep a fire going.


Regardless of the season, the town has a decidedly cozy feel, thanks to the pleasant, sturdy homes (many of which have livestock stalls in the lower level), windows full of flowers, occasional garden gnomes, and most of all, the friendliness of the villagers. "It's simple here in the Bavarian Forest, but it suits us," Heddi told me in the musical German dialect spoken in the region. Everyone knows each other, and even generations after a family leaves to start a new life somewhere else, they're welcomed back during seasonal celebrations and area anniversaries.

Among the most welcoming spots was our last stop for the night, an old tavern just a quick jog down the hill. Over a hearty meal, schnapps and a few beers, we visited with some of the locals, among them a particularly soused but exceptionally friendly guy named Werner. Werner, Heddi said, used to embark on drinking spells with her brother until the pair passed out in the garden, awakening the next day to the sound of the Bundeswehr (German army) vehicles driving by, which they would invariably stand up and salute. Even though we couldn't follow the much of the conversation, Werner's good-natured rants had us all in stitches, and by the evening's close he was encouraging us to move to Bischofsreut.

I don't think that's likely to happen anytime soon, but all the same, it's nice to know the offer is on the table.


(If you'd like to see more of these pictures, Jenn has a folder viewable here)