Retracing Karan’s Roots: A Father-Son Journey to Austria with Thrillophilia

The story of my family was written long before I was born- across generations, across lands, and now, across time itself. My grandfather, Johann Meier, was born in Vienna, Austria, but left for India as a young man in search of new opportunities. He fell in love with my grandmother, made India his home, and rarely spoke of the life he left behind. After he passed away last year, my father and I found ourselves staring at a dusty trunk filled with old letters, sepia-toned photographs, and torn documents, remnants of the past he never discussed.

My father had always been reluctant to talk about his Austrian heritage. It wasn’t shame or avoidance- it was just a part of him he had never truly explored. But as we sifted through those old papers, a spark ignited within him, a longing to understand where we came from. So, with Thrillophilia handling the details, we booked a trip to Austria- a father-son pilgrimage into the past.

Vienna: A City of Forgotten Stories

As we landed in Vienna, the city that once cradled my grandfather’s childhood, a strange feeling washed over me. The air was crisp, the streets lined with Baroque architecture, and the melodies of Mozart filled the corners of every café. It felt like stepping into a memory I had never lived.

Tracing History at the Vienna City Archives

Our first stop was the Vienna City Archives. The librarian, a kind woman named Elena, was patient as she helped us sift through records dating back to the early 1900s. As I flipped through brittle pages, my father suddenly froze.

"Here," he whispered, pointing at a faded birth certificate.

It was my grandfather’s- Johann Meier. Born 1934. Vienna. His parents' names were listed- my great-grandparents, whom I had never even heard of. My father, usually a man of few words, just sat there, staring at the document, his fingers tracing the ink. It was like meeting a ghost, yet feeling him alive in that very moment.

A Glimpse Into the Imperial Past

Before moving on from Vienna, we took some time to immerse ourselves in its grandeur. Schönbrunn Palace, once home to the Habsburg emperors, felt like walking through history. Its opulent gold interiors, vast gardens, and stunning Gloriette viewpoint took our breath away.

Later that evening, we dined at a traditional Heuriger (wine tavern). Over plates of Wiener Schnitzel and Apfelstrudel, my father opened up in a way I had never seen before.

"You know, I never asked him about his life here," he admitted, swirling his glass of Grüner Veltliner. "And now, I wish I had."

I had never seen my father regret anything before, but this moment- this was different.

Salzburg: The Village That Time Forgot

With the details from the archives, we traced my grandfather’s childhood home to a small village just outside Salzburg. The train ride there was straight out of a postcard- winding through green meadows, rolling hills, and scattered cottages with smoke curling from chimneys. Salzburg welcomed us with its fairytale charm, its cobblestone streets humming with violin music and the scent of freshly baked bread.

A Family Connection in the Heart of Salzburg

When we arrived at my grandfather’s old home, the village seemed untouched by time. The houses were painted in pastel hues, the Salzach River flowing peacefully in the background. My father and I stood in front of an old, yellow-painted house, its wooden shutters slightly ajar.

"This was it," my father murmured. "This is where he lived."

We knocked on the door, half-expecting no one to answer, but an elderly man with piercing blue eyes and a familiar nose opened it. He stared at us in shock, and then, in heavily accented English, said- 

"You are… Meiers?"

As it turned out, he was Otto Meier- my grandfather’s cousin, someone my father had never even heard of. He ushered us in, his wife beaming with excitement as she set out coffee and homemade Linzer Torte. Otto showed us old family photos, pointing at a young Johann, my grandfather, grinning in the summer sun.

For the first time, I saw my father not as a businessman, not as a parent, but as a son searching for his father.

Exploring Salzburg’s Timeless Beauty

While in Salzburg, we couldn’t miss visiting the famous Hohensalzburg Fortress, towering over the city with its medieval charm. Walking through its ancient corridors, we imagined the stories of past centuries echoing through the stone walls.

Another highlight was Mirabell Palace and Gardens, a place my grandfather had once mentioned in a letter. The perfectly manicured lawns, lined with sculptures and vibrant flowers, created an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Before leaving, we stood by the Salzburg Cathedral, where the same bells that rang in my grandfather’s childhood still chimed today.

Hallstatt: A Postcard Come to Life

Before our journey ended, we took a detour to Hallstatt, Austria’s most picturesque lakeside village. Nestled between towering mountains and a mirror-like lake, it felt like something straight out of a fantasy novel.

We walked along the narrow pathways, admiring the wooden chalets adorned with bright flower boxes, and took a boat ride across the serene waters of Lake Hallstatt. My father, usually a man of logic and pragmatism, stood silent, simply soaking in the beauty.

"Maybe this is why he missed it," he finally said.

We also visited Hallstatt Salt Mines, where Austria’s rich salt history dates back over 7,000 years. Standing inside the cool, dimly lit tunnels, we felt connected to generations of people who had once worked these very mines.

A Legacy That Lives On

The trip wasn’t just about tracing old records and visiting places- it was about rediscovering something deeper. It was about family, history, and the realization that even when people leave a place, they never truly leave it behind.

One evening, as we stood by the Danube River, my father suddenly said,

"I always thought he left Austria and never looked back. But he didn’t, did he? He carried this place with him, in his heart, all along."

And I knew then, that this wasn’t just his journey. It was ours.

As we boarded the flight back home, my father clutched the old photographs Otto had given him, his fingers brushing against the edges.

"You think he’d be happy we came?" he asked.

I smiled. "I think he’s been with us this whole time."

And with that, we flew home- not just with memories, but with a legacy restored.

Read More: Thrillophilia Austria Reviews