
We only spent a few days in Krakow, which is just a four hour drive from Lviv, Ukraine, making it the closest we’ve ever come to a war zone (other than some of our kids’ bedrooms when they were growing up). After quadruple-checking that Google Maps wasn’t accidentally sending us east, especially since I hadn’t downloaded any missile-avoidance software, we drove toward Austria by way of Czechia (formerly the Czech Republic, which is itself formerly Czechoslovakia, which had been formed at the end of World War I following the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire). In 1993, Czechoslovakia separated peacefully into two new countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Later, the Czechs decided they preferred to be called Czechia to, and I quote, “…make it easier for companies and sports teams to use it on products and clothing.”

Damn. I knew right then that I’d have to throw out all my Czech Republic logoed underwear, scarves, ear muffs, and nipple rings because my iconic status as a trend-setting fashionista just won’t be taken seriously if I wear obsolete logos. Also, all that makes me wonder if we’re ever gonna see a country named “Nike” or “Walmart.” Heck, Elon’s getting rich enough to buy a whole country, although “Musk” might not be the best name for one. Except the man just made two million bucks and actually sold out his latest perfume, called (and smells like), “Burnt Hair.” I don’t get it, do people think if they buy even the stupidest thing from an insanely rich person that their wealth will somehow rub off in the opposite direction than it actually does? I don’t understand people sometimes.



The scenic pictures like the above are not necessarily presented in chronological order, nor are they necessarily in the exact country we happen to be talking about at the moment. They’re just offered as an example of the Alpish scenery driving through that area of the world provides. It was also a nice antidote for the horrors we had just walked through in Auschwitz, so I’m kinda sprinkling them everywhere like fairy dust, or peanut shells in the restaurants that allow you to throw peanut shells on the floor.

Speaking of Auschwitz, one of our side trips included a stop at one of Hitler’s old digs, the Eagle’s Nest (aka the Kehlsteinhaus), which was built by Martin Bormann as a gift to the Fuhrer for his 50th birthday, and was something of an engineering marvel.
It turns out Hitler visited it less than twenty times, and then mostly just to show off to important guests. The allies tried bombing it but the target was too small for the bombs of the day and they never could take it out.
But oh, those views. As I stood gazing upon some of the most beautiful nature on earth, I couldn’t help but wonder whether a man with such incredible evil, hatred, and anger in his heart could look at these same mountains and appreciate any beauty in them at all. But the truth is, no one is all-evil like they portray in the movies; even genocidal maniacs can enjoy kids or love art or hold doors for women or have a soft spot for animals or cry during Bambi. We tend to view Hitler as a 24/7 vile-spewing hatred machine, but he was just as human as the rest of us. Well, maybe except for those annoying little genocidal tendencies, and that stupid mustache.

This is the entrance to the tunnel that takes you to the elevator that lifts you up to the house that Bormann built. At the top of the cliff above you can see the Eagle’s Nest house, which sits about 6,017 feet above sea level. A mountain road of about four miles long (6.37 km) was blasted into the mountainside, and was completed needing just one hairpin curve and five tunnels. The road and house were built in only 13 months.

To get into the Eagle’s Nest, you have to walk down this 407 foot long tunnel (this is after being ferried by bus to the base of the cliff; otherwise there’s no driving to Eagle’s Nest, you have to take a 30 euro bus ride which more than makes up for the Nest’s “free entrance”).


At the end of the 407 foot tunnel there’s a golden elevator that rises 407 feet to the top. I couldn’t find any relevance for the number 407, and then I remembered that Germany has used the metric system since the 1800s anyway, so it’s simply a matter of the two tunnels being the same length. However, 407 feet does equal exactly 124.054 meters, which didn’t seem very numerological to me until I remembered that both 7 and 18 are considered lucky and important numbers by the Jews, and if you add the first three numbers of 124.054 (124) together you get 7, and if you divide the last three numbers (054) by 3 you get, you guessed it, 18. This is why numerology is so important, it shows how obvious it is that the Jews were taunting Adolf by making him walk right through Jewish lucky numbers to get to his home away from home. In the end, that may be what did him in. Well, that and the cyanide and gunshot to the head.
In any case, part of the reason Hitler didn’t visit that often is because he had a fear of heights and didn’t like the changes in air pressure (maybe he had a hard time popping his ears, which were probably rebelling because of that stupid mustache). He was also worried about the perceived dangers of lightning, and nervous about simply riding in the elevator. In other words, this loud-mouthed, brash, spittle-spewing mass murderer was also a big fraidy cat.



The house itself is now a restaurant. There’s really not much to see inside other than a restaurant, although one of my WWII-knowledgeable sons (they both are actually) asked about the fireplace Mussolini gave Hitler, and was a bit nonplussed to hear that I didn’t really look for it nor take a picture of it.

So here you go, son, we’ll just pretend we never said we didn’t see it. Sometimes I don’t even know why we travel when almost everything we see can be found on the internet. However, at the risk of upsetting the residents of Barcelona and Mallorca and a bunch of other places that are really getting sick and tired of all the tourists… for the most part being there is far superior to the photos you bring home. The photos provide a 2D glimpse as to what you just experienced, but nothing beats actually being there.



Oh yeah, did I forget to mention there were spectacular views up there?

A short but fairly steep hike above the house offered more scenic viewpoints (as if we needed them) as well as this cross, which had a queue in front of it consisting of people waiting to take selfies with it in the background. So naturally I did the same because that’s what you do when you’re traveling: search out the selfie crowds and make sure you don’t miss out on something famous. Of course, some things are famous just because they’re famous. To find out, I searched the web for about ten minutes to see if there was any meaning or particular reason for the cross, and I couldn’t find anything about it. So, I think it’s just the world’s message to Hitler saying, “We’re quite cross about everything you did.” So there.


This is a view of Eagle’s Nest from above and then a view from a little bit below. It’s not hard to understand why the allies had such a hard time bombing it. In those days, bombing accuracy was so poor they had to make up for it by dropping tonnage, which is why you got wipeouts like Dresden and Tokyo. In 1943, only about 20% of the visually dropped bombs hit within 1,000 feet of the aiming point. And this thing is just a lone house. Today, a couple of homemade $100 Ukranian drones could probably take it out.










I’m pretty sure I may have mentioned something about spectacular views already, so the above is just a sampling of the many photos we took while gawking about at the Nest. As I mentioned earlier, photos really can’t do this kind of beauty justice, it is simply incredibly magnificent to see in person.
After visiting Eagle’s Nest, I went into YouTube and watched some of the “home movie” footage they had taken up there with Hitler and Eva Braun, etc. Being there really changed the way I saw those videos; it made it much more real somehow. Anyway, it’s a little, I dunno, haunting to walk in the same footsteps or ride in the same elevator as one of the most infamous mass murderers in history. However, I was thankful that aromas from farts don’t permeate metal, because Adolf was quite the literal gas bag later on in life so if that cable car had been lined with anything that permanently retained fart smells, they’d need to issue gas masks for the duration of the ride.
If I had been a German soldier back then, I sure wouldn’t have wanted to be in the same elevator as the Fuhrer because I’d have to do everything possible to stifle a snicker if he ever let out a long and warbling “Frrrrruuuuumph!”
If I failed, I imagine my headstone would read: “Shot for giggling at the Fuhrer’s farts.”

So now we’re moving on from the Eagle’s Nest and onward to the Hohenwerfen Castle, where they filmed the World War II caper Where Eagles Dare, making this whole blog entry very eagley.
Where Eagles Dare starred luminaries such as Sir Richard Burton, Clint Eastwood, and Terry Yorke. I promise you’ve never heard of Terry Yorke; he was the last uncredited actor in the movie, but now he finally has his name in lights right next to Eastwood and Burton. He’s long dead, but maybe his relatives will send me a thank you note. Possibly with some cash in the envelope? Euros or dollars are fine.

To get into the castle, you have to take a funicular, a mode of transportation that we’re getting pretty used to by now. We bought the whole tour of the castle at the bottom, but were disappointed to discover that the actual tour wouldn’t start for an hour after we landed in the courtyard. Thanks for nothing Ms. Ticket Seller. We wandered around for about half an hour, at which point we looked at each other and both realized that we’d seen enough and that it wasn’t worth spending good time after bad money, so we left before the tour. Which may have been only in German, besides.
Part of the reason we weren’t all that enamored of the castle was because this was one of those castles where they gussied everything up to make it look as if it was new. We really prefer our castles like I prefer my boobs: all natural.



But there’s no way (or reason) to gussy up the views. As usual for a castle, the scenery was breathtaking.



They did have a hangman’s noose to serve as a warning for misbehaving tourists, a short door for misbehaving tall people, and a partially fuzzy picture that served as a sign that the camera in Carolyn’s iPhone was going to be doing its own misbehaving.






So we took some more photos of the scenery and then, after checking to make sure Clint Eastwood wasn’t around anywhere signing autographs, we skedaddled. The other two luminous actors are dead, so he was our only hope. I sent our itinerary to Dirty_Harry@gmail.com but he must not have read it.

So we put Hohenwerfen Castle in our rearview and headed off to work in the salt mines.
Oh, before you go, I have to finish off this eagley entry with an old and very bad eagle joke:
Question: What’s the difference between unlawful and illegal? Answer: Unlawful is when something is contrary to the law of the region, and ill eagle is a sick bird.
My young nephew at the time, many decades ago, tried to repeat this joke by saying, “The difference between them is, that, um, that unlegal is against the law and illawful is a sick bird.” Now that’s how you turn a bad joke into something pretty funny.
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