South Tyrol and South Ossetia: commonality - 3

Tyrolean independence from interethnic troubles

What is to be done by the people whose brothers, parents and grandparents were provoked into interethnic conflicts? How can they take each other's hands today? It is difficult to give advice. I would rather describe two episodes from my Alpine journey.  ...On the outskirts of Innsbruck I wandered into a farm shop. It was evident that the locals come here not only for the goods. This is more like an event - walking into the shop for a sausage for tea and chatting there with familiar people about life. The shop was  surrounded by neat Tyrolean farms. All the shoppers knew a Lean-Tyrolean salesman well. I also got acquainted with him. His name was  Paul. He looked a little older than me - evidently, about 50. We quickly found one thing in common - bad English. In this bad English we happily started communicating. I realized that in this shop quick acquaintancship is a usual thing.

The benefit of communication proved to be mutual. During the conversation, I was buying wonderful Tyrolean sausages from nearby farms, and cheese. The products were inexpensive and look appetizing. Paul asked where I came from and where I was born. I told him about the Caucasus, about the beautiful Ossetian mountains, comparing them to the Alps, of course, in as polite a way as possible. Paul knew a lot about the Caucasus, about mountains which are actually higher and more dangerous than the Alps. He told me about his farm, which contains a large three-story mansion. In the corner of this mansion this very shop was located. Half of the house is for living, occupied by Paul's big happy family. The second half of the house is for cows. Their number in the house is much higher than that of human beings (such a comical comparison was provoked by our bad English). I praised Paul's family for the perfect cleanliness in the house, given that it is inhabited not only by people. The order was perfect, even around the house. I would never guess that the clean paved paths and smooth asphalt area around the house is walked on every day not only by farmers and tourists, but also by livestock.

New shoppers were coming in, but Paul apparently found our communication very interesting. He offered me a cup of coffee. Not as a gift. In the next room there were three tables - a coffee shop. The room preserved the atmosphere of daily life of a Tyrolean family of the second half of last century: the old bulky chest of drawers, the wall clock, the receiver tube, the old-fashioned iron chandelier with three lights, and in the corner - a Crucifix. In its austerity and comfort, this retro coffee-shop reminded me of my grandmother's little room in the Cossack town in the south of Stavropol. In addition, Paul's coffee proved to be fragrant and inexpensive. As I was leaving the room I noticed a portrait hanging on the wall - a photograph of a serviceman in German uniform from the time of World War II. The serviceman looked very much like Paul. Nothing unusual, I decided. This is Austria, where, one may say, the same Germans live. For whom they were to fight in World War II? And Paul confirmed - it is his father on the photo. Yes, he went to that war ... yes, in the Austrian divisions ... no, did not survive ... My new friend was not easy about going into the family tragedy of war. I did not insist. Saying a warm good-bye, I took a picture of Paul for the memory of our talk, and light-heartedly continued my walk.

 In the evening, in my hotel room, turning on my computer pad, I browsed the information about the "Austrian Unit" during the Second World War. And here's what I found on various websites: "After the Anschluss of Austria in 1938, the Wehrmacht replenished its personnel with experienced and well trained Austrian mountain riflemen. There were so many Austrians that they had to organize two new mountain rifle divisions ... Mountain riflemen units of the German side took part in the Battle for the Caucasus ... " That's where Paul knows about the Caucasus and the mountains, which are much larger and more dangerous than the Alps! It turns out that my grandfathers and his father not only fought in opposing armies, but they could have actually met in battle. One of them swore to the Wehrmacht that he would cleanse this land "from the Soviet barbarians," while others promised to beat the Nazis up to the last one. My grandfather fell in this damned war, and Paul's family, too, had its tragedy.And here - sausage, cheese, coffee, intimate conversation ... I am sure that neither Paul's father, nor my grandfathers in another world, reproached us. Any war ends with peace. People should come to each other with peace, learning from fatal historical mistakes. And any war, in my opinion, is a great historical mistake, a tragedy.
And now the second episode. On the way back from Venice to Innsbruck, near the Brenner Pass, I took an hour and a half break for lunch. On the Italian side, on both sides of the highway, were cozy restaurants with shops, parking and gas stations. A young cook on distribution began quickly loading my tray. I could not refuse minestrone soup, corzetti with walnuts, macaroni and cheese, salad with mozzarella, ristretto, and tiramisou. Slyly grinning, the cook filled my plates quickly and put them on the  scales. The price here depended on the weight of the dishes. Taking advantage of my silence, the Italian cook managed to load a tray for 15 euros. But at the end I was grateful to him - after such a meal, I thought about food again only in Germany, close to the Czech border. Roadside restaurants near the highway were flooded by numerous tourists passing by on double-decker buses and cars. Everyone had plenty of meals, coffee, gifts, and water. Everyone generously left their euros there. The same money the tourists paid on the other side, in the Austrian restaurants. The Italians and the Tyroleans understood each other, being engaged in a common cause. It was evident that there are enough tourists and money for everybody here. The border is conditional, the order is perfect and people are busy with work.And here again I cannot avoid Caucasian analogies. Borders with barbed wire, deep-rooted disorder, unemployment, and armed men in camouflage ... Is all this temporary, superficial? Each of us should improve our life. But you cannot do it with machine guns and barbed wire.

Oleg Kusov