Greetings from the Bohemian Forest - Monica McCormack

 

My Czech Boyfriend

Hello One and All, Fellow U3A Hikers

I’m writing this long-winded hiking ‘blog’ from my forest sanctuary, a relatively remote area

in middle Europe called Hamry na Sumava. Hamry is a small village of 140 non-permanent

residents spread over about 10 kilometres in the depths of the Bohemian Woods in the

Czech Republic (CR).

It lies just over the border from Bavaria/Bayern, in Germany. I’ll deal with that side first so

you get the picture of two quite different countries, which - until 1989 – were separated by

barbed wire and armed guards. You can still see bits of wire in my area, and hear stories of

young Czechs trying to cross in the middle of the night crawling on hands and knees, to get

to ‘the other side’ during Communist times. This rural area, off the beaten track in many

ways, is a paradise for hikers, bicyclists and skiers. Which is why I’d like to sell the concept to

you, in case you ever get the urge to visit an area not over-run by Chinese, Russian and

European tourists, or be subjected to ‘unprecedented’ heatwaves now besetting major

European cities, for the fourth summer in a row. 

I can’t even begin to imagine visiting

Athens, Barcelona, Munich, Cologne (which is where I resided over the past decade to look

after grandkids), Dresden or Paris under these climatic conditions.

Let’s start with Bavaria. I shop in the township of Regen every week for supplies since the

Czech side has fewer offerings, at a lesser standard. It, like all the towns or villages in the

area, is typically Bavarian, although not particularly German. It sits on a rushing river, is

surrounded by green hills and offers a lifestyle slower than elsewhere. Fachwerkhäuser line

the streets, the pubs and town halls are painted with traditional artworks, and the locals are

inclined to wear Lederhosen and Dirndls (dresses with tight bodices to reveal ample

cleavage, and aprons) and drink giant steins of beer. The local train, the Waldbahn, carts

hikers and push-bikers to local Wanderwege (hiking tracks), and pensioners with shopping

trolleys. Every so often a crowd of young lads dressed in Lederhosen and knee-length socks

will jump on board carrying weighty crates of beer. The passengers are treated to boisterous

singing (everyone learns to sing at a very early age) and the bottles are handed round.

Usually, the event is some young man’s version of a buck’s party, but it can be any event: a

long weekend, Reunification or Ascension Day. Really, there’s no necessity for pretext. The

girlfriends of the bride, on the other hand, board another train, dressed in dirndls, and head

for Nuremberg or Frankfurt. It’s a quieter affair, but jolly nevertheless. They sip champagne.

Every town on the Bavarian side supports the caricature image Aussies have of ‘Germany’

without realising the image is strictly Bavarian. The rest of Germany secretly jeers at

Bavarians, much the same way we might Queenslanders or Tasmanians, only with more

intensity: Bavarians are seen as a land of peasants; slow, backward, inclined to false jollity

and dressing like clowns. I mostly like Bavaria, especially the sausages – Weisswurt,

Bratwurst & Knacker – the bread, cakes and fabulous landscape. I’ve long ago decided it’s not worth being vegetarian in Bayern.

Above all, the hiking, biking and skiing opportunities attract visitors through this gorgeous

landscape. No other German state or city can boast so much clean air, space and fresh,

affordable food. Only the drivers are half brain-dead, but that happens in Oz as well.