Heimweh: Austria As Place

Near Gmunden and Bad Ischel

There is a word in German called Heimweh that roughly translates as: a homesickness for one's place. My father was born in Wien, (Vienna) Austria, where he lived until he met my mother and followed her to the states. Besides my Oma (grandmother), the rest of his family moved two hours south of Wien, to a small town called Hartberg. Having these possibly removed but ever-so strong connections—both with my family, and with the land—I have felt this Heimweh for Austria.

When I was young, my father wanted very badly to fit in as an American. With that in mind and the fact that my mother doesn't speak German, I didn't grow up as the bilingual child that I wish I were now. I visited Austria and saw my cousins, aunts, and uncles and grandma for the first time when I was five, but I didn't speak the language except for a word or two, and my vague memories are mostly derived only from pictures of the trip. When my Oma would call on the phone every weekend, my dad would put the phone up to my ear and I would shy away. I had no idea what was being said on the other line and only a distant idea of who my Oma was.

The Protestant Church in Hallstatt

Before my next return to Austria when I was sixteen, nearly eleven years later, I had taken German lessons, received pictures from the relatives in Austria, was old enough to understand my dad's stories about his youth, and loved eating the only two meals my father will ever cook for our family: the traditional Viennese dishes Weinerschnitzle , (breaded veal) and Palatschinken , (German crepes). With all of these influences, I felt that I was Austrian, not only because I am half Austrian and could legally become a citizen, but also because of the stories, food, language, and bits of culture that I had picked up over the years.

It wasn't until I returned home from Österreich (Austria) for the second time though, that I felt Heimweh . The summer of 1999, I took a trip to Austria with my father's side of the family for a month. I picked up the language, breathed in the mountains, and fell in love with my family. The jagged mountain peaks, rocky and snowcapped, were the first huge mountains I had seen since I was five. I soaked up their energy as if I would never see them again. I rapidly became familiar with the slang dialect of Eastern Steiermark (Styria, the region that my relatives lived in) and fell in love with playing around with new word. There were many conversations that ended in laughter as I tried to describe the words I wanted to know in German.

The part of Austria as my place that impacted me the most however, was the time I spent with my relatives. Having a very mobile extended family in the states, and being an only child, I had never experienced the beauty and addiction of the intimacy of a close family. My cousin, Ines, and her family live below my aunt and uncle, and my cousin Kurti and his family live only five miles away. We would get together often to have meals and barbeques together, laughing into the pleasant warm nights, and conversing in a mix of broken English and German.

My second cousin Bernd was also sixteen and I was able to experience the life of Austrian's through him and his friends. I remember nights that to a sixteen-year-old were dreams come true: driving on the backs of different Austrian boys' mopeds from one place to the next, eventually convening at a coffee shop or bar (the legal drinking age was 16), and getting a headache from concentrating so hard on the German that was flying through the air and in dialect. I struggled to answer Bernd's friend's questions about racism in America, why the women in America liked body builders for boyfriends, and about politics. None of my sixteen-year-old friends in America ever asked such questions.

My Cousin Bernd and I

Austria blew my mind as a young, American girl who was told by society to think about clothes and makeup, grades and sports, fitting in and being cool. During those perfect summer nights, warm enough to wear shorts and a t-shirt comfortably, I realized that our world was huge and there were so many connections and cultures and languages that I could learn. I was overwhelmed at the infinite possibilities of travels and futures now included in my expanded worldview, and couldn't imagine returning to America where people my age didn't seem to think beyond high school. I couldn't imagine returning to America where we are challenged not by education but by television ads. I couldn't imagine leaving the mountain air, my family or this culture that truly places families and life above work.

The 300 year-old Barn I worked with in Upper Austria

I have since gone back for two more months during the summer after my sophomore year in college. I deepened my connection to the land by working on an organic farm in upper Austria, and my connections to my family. Since I was sixteen I had fine-tuned my German skills through college courses, and had come without my parents, enabling me to be more mobile and able to hold more complex conversations. I learned more about my family, some environmental language, and built up my understanding for my heritage, deepening my feelings for this place and realizing that Österreich is my Heimat or homeland. This Heimat does not necessarily replace the U.S., yet the pride and deep traditions in Austria seem to be more constant and solidified part of my life than the scattered traditions of my American side.

Making Goat's Cheese

Austria is my place because of a deep feeling of connectedness to the physical, in which I realize that the land of our culture has such an impact on the history of our culture. Another important part of Austria as my place is undoubtedly my family, the people who are in this place. Yet I think that this place may have molded my relatives. The place has a history of language and customs that arose from the region. Not unlike Minnesota, you do not grow tropical plants or build houses strong enough to withstand earthquakes, you form to the land and the climate, and from this the people are formed. So in a sense I love the land and the people that the land helped create in Austria.

Place is also the feeling of joy that you feel from when you are in symbiotic relation to the place, and a feeling of longing when you are not. When reminded—whether by a phone call from Bernd, a Palatschinken for breakfast made by my dad, or a picture from my many travels—I feel that Heimweh for my Heimatland .