Schlepping Through the Alps: My Search for Austria's Jewish Past with Its Last W

Description: Schlepping Through the Alps by Sam Apple In the tradition of "Confederates in the Attic" comes a hilarious account of a journey with Austrias last wandering shepherd. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Hans Breuer, Austrias only wandering shepherd, is also a Yiddish folksinger. He walks the Alps, shepherds stick in hand, singing lullabies to his 625 sheep. Sometimes he even gives concerts in historically anti-Semitic towns, showing slides of the flock as he belts out Yiddish ditties. When New York-based writer Sam Apple hears about this one-of-a-kind eccentric, he flies overseas and signs on as a shepherds apprentice. For thoroughly urban, slightly neurotic Sam, stumbling along in borrowed boots and burdened with a lot more baggage than his backpack, the task is far from a walk in Central Park. Demonstrating no immediate natural talent for shepherding, he tries to earn the respect of Breuers sheep, while keeping a safe distance from the shepherds fierce herding dogs.As this strange and hilarious adventure unfolds, the unlikely duo of Sam and Hans meander through a paradise of woods and high meadows toward awkward encounters with Austrians of many stripes. Apple is determined to find out if there are really as many anti-Semites in Austria as he fears and to understand how Hans, who grew up fighting the lingering Nazism in Vienna, became a wandering shepherd. What Apple discovers turns out to be far more fascinating than he had imagined.With this odd and wonderful book, Sam Apple joins the august tradition of Tony Horwitz and Bill Bryson. Schlepping Through the Alps is as funny as it is moving. Flap Hans Breuer, Austrias only wandering shepherd, is also a Yiddish folksinger. He walks the Alps, shepherds stick in hand, singing lullabies to his 625 sheep. Sometimes he even gives concerts in historically anti-Semitic towns, showing slides of the flock as he belts out Yiddish ditties. When New York-based writer Sam Apple hears about this one-of-a-kind eccentric, he flies overseas and signs on as a shepherds apprentice. For thoroughly urban, slightly neurotic Sam, stumbling along in borrowed boots and burdened with a lot more baggage than his backpack, the task is far from a walk in Central Park. Demonstrating no immediate natural talent for shepherding, he tries to earn the respect of Breuers sheep, while keeping a safe distance from the shepherds fierce herding dogs. As this strange and hilarious adventure unfolds," the unlikely duo of Sam and Hans meander through a paradise of woods and high meadows toward awkward encounters with Austrians of many stripes. Apple is determined to find out if there are really as many anti-Semites in Austria as he fears and to understand how Hans, who grew up fighting the lingering Nazism in Vienna, became a wandering shepherd. What Apple discovers turns out to be far more fascinating than he had imagined. With this odd and wonderful book, Sam Apple joins the august tradition of Tony Horwitz and Bill Bryson. "Schlepping Through the Alps is as funny as it is moving. "From the Hardcover edition. Author Biography SAM APPLE, who grew up in Houston, is a graduate of the creative nonfiction MFA program at Columbia University. Apples writing has appeared in a variety of publications, including The New York Times, Forward, and The Jerusalem Report as well as on Salon.com. He currently lives in Brooklyn and is a contributing book editor at Nerve. Review Advance praise for Schlepping Through the Alps"This marvelously alert, one-of-a-kind book fascinates by virtue of its eccentric honesty, humor, warmth, and intelligence. Sam Apples writing style sparkles, and the two brilliantly achieved, richly sympathetic characterizations at the heart of the book–the singing shepherd and the author himself–make for a dazzlingly satisfying read. I absolutely loved it."–PHILLIP LOPATE"At its best, Apples narrative voice is as grave as W.G. Sebalds while as self-deprecating as a poetic version of Woody Allens. Europe in the wake of the Holocaust is risky material. I know of no other American of Apples generation writing non-fiction who has attempted as subtle and oblique an approach as this."–HONOR MOORE, author of The White Blackbird"In this wonderful book, Sam Apple has written a brilliantly comic and very dark pastorale about shepherds, Nazis and Jews, modern-day Austria, love and fidelity, and he has done it with such subtlety–with bright colors at the center and darkness around all the edges–that the effect is quite singular. I have never read a book quite like this, and I loved it; its that simple."–CHARLES BAXTER, author of Saul and Patsy: A Novel and Burning Down the House: Essays on Fiction Long Description Hans Breuer, Austrias only wandering shepherd, is also a Yiddish folksinger. He walks the Alps, shepherds stick in hand, singing lullabies to his 625 sheep. Sometimes he even gives concerts in historically anti-Semitic towns, showing slides of the flock as he belts out Yiddish ditties. When New York-based writer Sam Apple hears about this one-of-a-kind eccentric, he flies overseas and signs on as a shepherds apprentice. For thoroughly urban, slightly neurotic Sam, stumbling along in borrowed boots and burdened with a lot more baggage than his backpack, the task is far from a walk in Central Park. Demonstrating no immediate natural talent for shepherding, he tries to earn the respect of Breuers sheep, while keeping a safe distance from the shepherds fierce herding dogs. As this strange and hilarious adventure unfolds," "the unlikely duo of Sam and Hans meander through a paradise of woods and high meadows toward awkward encounters with Austrians of many stripes. Apple is determined to find out if there are really as many anti-Semites in Austria as he fears and to understand how Hans, who grew up fighting the lingering Nazism in Vienna, became a wandering shepherd. What Apple discovers turns out to be far more fascinating than he had imagined. With this odd and wonderful book, Sam Apple joins the august tradition of Tony Horwitz and Bill Bryson. "Schlepping Through the Alps "is as funny as it is moving. "From the Hardcover edition." Review Quote Advance praise for Schlepping Through the Alps "This marvelously alert, one-of-a-kind book fascinates by virtue of its eccentric honesty, humor, warmth, and intelligence. Sam Apples writing style sparkles, and the two brilliantly achieved, richly sympathetic characterizations at the heart of the bookthe singing shepherd and the author himselfmake for a dazzlingly satisfying read. I absolutely loved it." PHILLIP LOPATE "At its best, Apples narrative voice is as grave as W.G. Sebalds while as self-deprecating as a poetic version of Woody Allens. Europe in the wake of the Holocaust is risky material. I know of no other American of Apples generation writing non-fiction who has attempted as subtle and oblique an approach as this." HONOR MOORE, author of The White Blackbird "In this wonderful book, Sam Apple has written a brilliantly comic and very dark pastorale about shepherds, Nazis and Jews, modern-day Austria, love and fidelity, and he has done it with such subtletywith bright colors at the center and darkness around all the edgesthat the effect is quite singular. I have never read a book quite like this, and I loved it; its that simple." CHARLES BAXTER, author of Saul and Patsy: A Noveland Burning Down the House: Essays on Fiction From the Hardcover edition. Excerpt from Book Chapter One A Shepherd Comes to Manhattan If youre traveling the Alps with a Yiddish folksinger who also happens to be the last wandering shepherd in Austria and he assigns you the task of walking behind his flock of 625 sheep, youll discover that the little lambs sometimes tire out and plop down for naps. Since your job is to make sure no sheep is left behind, youll approach the sleeping lambs, your shepherds stick firm in your right fist, and shout, "Hop! Hop!" Youll have learned to make this noise, which rhymes with "nope," from observing the shepherd and his sons. On occasion, when a lamb is in a deep sleep and not responding, youll look around quickly to see whether the coast is clear. If the shepherd is far ahead or busy singing Yiddish ditties to himself, youll kneel down next to the sleeping lamb and say, "Come on, little cutie. Time to move on." Then youll attempt to give the lamb a quick pat on the head. Usually the lamb will wake up before you touch it and scurry ahead in search of its mother. When this happens, youll let out several angry hop hops, as though youre completely in charge. After a while on the job, youll grow a little cocky. Youll continue along even when a few sheep are still lingering behind because youll have learned that, for the most part, the sheep dont want to be left alone. As you walk, youll wonder about this instinctual urge to stay close to the flock, and before you know it, youll be lost in thoughts about evolution. Youll remember that we once traveled open landscapes in groups not unlike these sheep. Youll think about what it would be like if the sheep were forced to live apart from one another in miniature suburban homes. Would they ever find happiness? Would they greet one another while grazing in their front yards? Suddenly, youll reach a narrow passage and find youve drifted too far ahead and are now stuck in the middle of 625 tightly packed sheep. Youll realize that the sheep, for all their virtues, dont have much regard for human shins or feet. Theyll bump their woolly sides against you from every angle until you almost lose your balance. Youll try to clear some space with your stick, but it will be no use. The sheep will treat you like the novice you are. Then, just as youre regaining your bearings, a mangy gray sheepdog will race by and bark its angry orders. Your heart will skip a beat, and youll hurry ahead as fast as the others. If only for that one fleeting moment, you will understand the hardships of life in the flock. After this unsettling experience, youll remain in back. Watching the sheep from behind, youll note the way their ears flop when they run, turning their heads into full-bodied birds in flight; the way sheep, in the hunched position they assume to urinate, resemble kangaroos; the way even a castrated male will mount an unsuspecting ewe; the way the ewe will continue her furious nibbling at the earth as she shakes off the pesky eunuch; the way a sheeps stomach gradually ex-pands as the day goes on, so that by sundown a cantaloupe-sized bulge has formed on its left side. If youre on a particularly good patch of land, meaning the grass is plentiful and not too tall (sheep prefer their grass fresh), the sheep will spend a long time in one place. This is when youll put down your backpack and look around at the snowcapped peaks and the endless expanse of Alpine foothills, hills so green and peaceful that whenever you cross them, you have to fight the desire to get down on your side and roll. Youll turn to the quiet streams cutting this way and that, pick the red flowers that peek out of crevices in the rocks, and think, Hmm, maybe Ive made a horrible mistake by overlooking a career in shepherding. But eventually your eyes will wander downward, and then all youll see is shit. Sheep shit, youll come to appreciate, is formless, unaesthetic shit; shit that, if not for the smell, could pass for mud. Next to the charming pebbles of goats or the healthy round cakes of cattle, the mushy green-brown splotches sheep leave behind can only disappoint. Still, youll keep staring at the shit because itll be everywhere, a parade of digested grass and Alpine flowers. Youll see one sheeps shit stacked upon anothers. Youll see globs of dried shit clinging like black icicles to the wool of sheep tails. Youll get to know the shit so well that, for the first time in your life, shit will seem harmless. Youll walk through it as though youve been walking through it for years. Youll stab at it with your shepherds stick for sport. But a moment later youll look down at your stick to make sure its not too dirty because youll have grown emotionally attached to it. Youll realize that the stick is not just a prop, but an integral part of what makes a shepherd a shepherd. Youll be so fond of your knobby wooden staff that after a while youll accept its phallic symbolism even though you hate that sort of insight. Youll think, The stick is my manhood. I am the stick. At least thats what youll think if youre like me. But lets hope youre not like me, since then youd also be a little too skinny. And your hair would be rather poofy. And, at age twenty-five, the only thing youd have been really sure of was your desire to write about a singing Austrian shepherd named Hans Breuer. I first met Hans in New York in July of 2000. A friend had forwarded me an e-mail announcement from a small Yiddish cultural outfit called Yugntruf (Call to Youth), which was sponsoring a concert and slide show by Hans at New York University. The e-mail included the following background information on Hans: Hans truly is a wandering Jew, for he has no permanent home. And everywhere, everywhere--Hans sings Yiddish lidlekh [songs] to his sheep as he leads them through valleys and over mountains. And as he goes, he thinks out loud to the sheep, and to whomever will listen, about history, politics, geography, geology, and about being a Jew among "unknowing" racists. A peripatetic philosopher and a fine one, is Hans. Since its not every day I have the opportunity to meet a fine peripatetic philosopher, let alone one who sings, shows slides of his sheep, and lectures on racism, I immediately e-mailed my RSVP for the concert. The performance space at NYU turned out to be a classroom with a wall-to-wall blackboard and about fifty desks, half of which were filled with middle-aged Jews. I took a front-row seat along with the friend who had forwarded me the e-mail. I had expected Hans to be an old man. I imagined him with missing teeth, his back bent from years of hard labor. When Hans showed up a few minutes late, his back was straight, and his teeth, though a bit crooked, appeared to all be in place. At forty-five he was well built, husky without being heavy. He wore a black leather cap, a light pink T-shirt, sandals over his socks, and hexagonal glasses. His tangled hair, a lifeless brown, reached almost to his shoulders. Long and unruly sideburns framed his face, which struck me as vaguely Semitic, save for his strong cheekbones. After making a subtle turn to the right, his nose ended at a broad, rounded tip. As promised, Hans had brought slides of his sheep with him. While a bushy-haired teenager fiddled with the projector, Hans addressed the audience in English, speaking slowly in an accent that brought to mind a slightly mad German professor. Due to the chaos of his travels, Hans explained, his hands moving in tandem with his words, the sheep slides had been mixed up and would not be coordinated with his songs. Although its unlikely that anyone else in the room would have noticed the difference, Hans seemed rather upset about this technical glitch and apologized for it several more times in the course of the evening. He also apologized for not having brought his shepherds hat. ("Normally I like very much to wear my hat when I seeng.") When the slides were ready, Hans nodded at the young man in charge of the projector and then belted out his first song, "Hey, Tsigelech," or "Hey, Little Goats." The "hey" was held for a long note, followed by an even longer, echoing "tsi-ge-lech." At the time I didnt understand the words, but Hanss emotion-filled voice and intense eyes had a powerful effect. Even as I smiled at the strangeness of this gruff-looking man passionately taking on the high notes of folk ditties, there was no escaping the pull of his performance. When Hans finished the song, he picked up a piece of paper and read the following aloud: "At an auction, three thousand schilling more are offered for a young cow that has been raised in the mountains--with the same milk output--than for one that has been raised down in the valley. What is the reason? It is because she is healthier. She has the Alpine herbs in her flesh and the waterfall in her blood, the air and the wind of the high mountains under her skin and the soft glowing colors of the rocks in her eyes." I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. As the evening wore on, Hans mixed up the routine, performing classic Yiddish folk tunes about life in the shtetl along with hits from Yiddish musicals of the 1920s and 30s. Even during the livelier songs, which occasionally had the audience clapping along, a sense of longing resonated in Hanss voice. As he sang, he looked out over the heads of the audience and pleaded with open hands. His feet remained planted in one spot, but his upper body swayed reedlike from right to left. He might as well have been auditioning for the lead in Fiddler on the Roof. Hanss melancholy demeanor made m Details ISBN0345477731 Author Sam Apple Short Title SCHLEPPING THROUGH THE ALPS Language English ISBN-10 0345477731 ISBN-13 9780345477736 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY 914.364 Year 2006 Subtitle My Search for Austrias Jewish Past with Its Last Wandering Shepherd DOI 10.1604/9780345477736 Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2006-03-28 NZ Release Date 2006-03-28 US Release Date 2006-03-28 UK Release Date 2006-03-28 Place of Publication New York Pages 304 Publisher Random House USA Inc Publication Date 2006-03-28 Imprint Ballantine Books Inc. Illustrations A FEW PHOTOS Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:7162855;

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