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Bratislava, Slovakia
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In the movie Eurotrip, Bratislava is pictured as a run-down city, devoid of culture and stuck in a post-Soviet state of perpetual slum. In reality, it is a city with many old buildings, well-manicured pedestrian alleys and cobbled streets lined with cafes. Its availability to tourists rivals some of Europe’s top destinations. As a part of the Schengen Agreement, travelers are allowed unfettered passage from full EU states. Nearly everywhere accepts Euros as currency.
I took a day-trip to the Slovakian capital with a native Vienan who’d never been. This is somewhat surprising, as the capital cities are the closest of all except the Republic of Congo and Democratic Republic of Congo. But they’re on opposite river banks and are essentially the same city so I consider that cheating.
Bratislava has a small old town on the North side of the Danube river, as well as the aforementioned Soviet-era buildings on the South side. The Novy Most, or “new bridge” separates the two and was a typical Soviet-style massacre of history for hideousness. They tore down quite a bit of the old city below the castle, including pretty much the entire Jewish quarter. But they did put a UFO-shaped restaurant on top of the off-kilter main posts of the bridge.
Bratislava must be the city with the highest per-capita fountain population in the world. There are dozens and dozens, ranging in age from under construction to several hundred years old. Some are sculpted figures and others are simply water shooting from a pool. It’s a bit odd. They’ve also got some odd statues. I’d have taken pictures but my camera was locked up in a Viennese hostel.
A giant castle overlooks the city. It sits atop a large and steep hill. Climbing it in the warm temperatures was worth it, I’m told. Unless it happens to be closed for renovations as it was when I went.
But the day wasn’t lost because the cafes and restaurants were quite good. Prices are about half of what they are in Vienna, as well. A nice respite from the empty wallet feeling you get from Western Europe.
Melk, Krems and the Danube
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I took a day trip to a couple of cities up the river from Vienna called Melk and Krems. Or as I refer to them, Milk and Cream. The plan was to take a train to Melk, then a boat down to Krems, then the train back to Vienna. Melk has a unique monastery and Krems has a few smaller attractions. At 45 Euro for the kombi ticket (train, boat, admission), it was quite economical.
When I got off the train in Melk, I smelled sweetness in the air. There was an apple tree nearby and many of the fruits had fallen to the ground and were ripening. There were many colorful trees and flowers. The air was cool. It was a nice day for a trip like this. I walked to the main square area and it reminded me of the trip I took to the town of Blarney.
The abbey was originally a palace and was given to the Benedictines later. Its original purpose is obvious, as the grandeur of the place does not befit monks. There are about 500 rooms, one or two 200 meter long hallways, marble and gold everywhere. It all made me wonder how you’d fill that space.
I got a single ticket rather than going with a group. However, the place was a bit tight so I was often stuck behind tour groups. Because of that I learned a lot. Though one of the groups spoke Spanish, they were mostly English speaking. One thing I noted was that I was the youngest person in the place, aside from the tour guides and the grandkids.
The first few rooms were meant to be symbolic and were bathed with differently colored lights. Blue, green and red. The blue is meant to symbolize innocence. I think. All the symbology was lost on me – and I was with an English group at that point.
The next rooms were more traditional. “Built in the Baroque, during the counter-reformation of the Church, the designers of the palace and of the treasures on display here wanted to emulate the glory of Heaven. They made extensive use of marble, gold, pearls and precious stones.”
The library has thousands of books. Much of them dedicated to the apparently rich astronomical history of the monastery. I was with a Spanish group at this point so didn’t understand much of what was being said. And there were too many people in the room to walk around and see the small placards.
The tour concluded at the church. Again, gold and marble.
Next stop, head to the boat to go down river to Krems. We made our way slowly down the river, past some spectacular views. A humble village that looks like I imagine it would have 200 years ago. A high cliff where the local regents made their enemies jump to their deaths. A quaint little summer palace for some king or other.
We had to change boats in Spitz and so disembarked onto the small stretch of ground that was backed against several restaurants and a church. A wedding had just finished up so all the guests and the wedding party were milling about as well. It was pretty crowded. The reception was apparently to be held on the boat to Krems. That boat had an area which seemed to be built for hosting such events, so it didn’t overwhelm the craft.
Another port of call on our three-hour tour was Dürnberg. It has a splendidly painted church and its port looks really nice, as you can see in the photo to the right. From the looks of the landings at Spitz and Dürnberg, these two cities might have been nice to see as well. Maybe make it a couple of days rather than just one.
Krems was rather unspectacular as we reached it near dark. I didn’t make time to see anything but instead just headed for the rail station to go back to Vienna. Here’s a lesson, instead of waiting around in Melk for the 16:15 boat to Krems, make sure you take the 13:50 boat. The boat will invariably be late and even if not you’ll be hard pressed to get to the last express train before it leaves. And the next slow train doesn’t leave for a couple of hours and takes 2 hours, rather than one. Unless it’s also late. I got back into Vienna around 10:30 fairly tired. But it was a good trip, overal.
Vienna, Austria
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Vienna, Wien to the locals, has a very long cultural tradition. During the late 1700s and into the 1900s they were home to some of the world’s greatest artists, composers and thinkers. All of this is evidenced as you stroll about the city.
Statues, museums and monuments abound in Vienna. One starts to believe that anyone who ever lived here has been memorialized in some way or another. The greats have parks, museums, statues, tourist stores, stars in the ground like in Hollywood, and any number of other dedications to their greatness. Those not so famous receive instead only their choice of one upon their deathbed.
And then they went and did something so ignominious to Mozart as bury him in an unmarked mass pauper’s grave. You really have to hate a guy to do that to him. I mean yeah, I hate sitting through classical concerts and operas as well, but that’s still a bit harsh. They’ve now added a memorial at the spot, though, to make up for it.
There’s what’s called a “cafe culture” in Vienna, meaning that they have a lot of cafes and like to sit in them for a while. It’s quite nice because I like to do that as well. And the coffee they make has a pretty big kick to it, so that’s good for me, too.
The city is fairly small, especially if you stick to the old-town area. So it’s easy to walk around. And it’s got some nice sites, like the Belvedere and the Hofburg. On a nice day, each of these is gorgeous. I spent nearly a whole afternoon napping in the sun on the lawn of the Hapsburg Empire. It was fantastic.
Old Friends and Imprisoned Luggage
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I have not been able to change clothes or post anything for the last two days because my luggage was imprisoned in a Viennese hostel locker. To tell how it got there and why it was stuck I will have to start a bit earlier. It started with an email.
“You will go to the Meininger Hostel tonight at 20.00 where you will be greeted by a friend.” The Philadelphian.
When I arrived at the hostel, I was indeed greeted by an old friend and roommate, named Yu. I haven’t seen him in about 3 years, during which time he’s been in school in Japan. This week he moved to Vienna.
So we caught up and planned out some things to see and do and went to get some dinner and drinks. I locked my luggage in the locker with a nice, strong lock designed to resist a shim.
We got back to the hostel and I realized that somewhere I had lost the key. I searched my pockets but to no avail. The key had vanished like a David Copperfield trick. No real trouble, just cut the lock off and be done with it. It happens a thousand times a year in hostels the world over, I’m sure.
Except there was a problem. The hostel had no way to deal with a well-made lock, they were only equipped to cut off the poorly made ones like those they sold. (Hey, a locked storage space like that is only meant to deter casual theft not a determined attacker.) We could always force the locker open by wrenching the locked piece, but that would break it. And their handyman wouldn’t be in until Monday to figure out a way to get it off without breaking the locker.
Stranded. Without phone. Without clean clothes. Without toiletries. Without laptop.
So finally this morning the handyman arrives, grabs the pliers and wrenches off the lock and I have my bag back.
Auf Wiedersehen, München
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Italians, Germans, Kenyans, Russians, Polish, Canadian, Irish, Americans and Brits and Aussies and Japanese. I have made and lost hundreds of new friends over the last few days. But now I must bid them, and Munich, auf wiedersehen.
I set myself a mission here: to have a drink at each tent on the grounds. That’s 15 by my map. Its apparently not very common for people to have visited all tents – even residents of Munich. I can see why, it’s a very difficult task.
Last night I had to find the back way into the Kafer tent – it’s usually just the rich and famous who get in there. And I talked my way into the Weinzelt where their specialty is wine. It was completely full, but I just told my story and showed my map with the other tents crossed off. The security guards actually cleared a path through the line for me to get in front of everyone else. I had breakfast and a coffee only this morning in the final one. Appropriate since the Kaiser-Schmarrn is a cafe.
I don’t think I could drink another liter of beer. It would be good to get out of town and clear my head a little. Fortunately, I have my next destination determined somewhere along the Danube.
Right now I’m on a speeding train winding its way through the Alps at 200km per hour. I’ll shortly arrive in Vienna and then to my next mission, whatever that may be.
The Grand Triangle
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I opened the Mission Pack. It had previously occurred to me that the envelope was a bit small to contain more than one travel book – therefore I assumed I would be staying in Germany. I found that one assumption was right, the other wrong. There was one book. But it covered the whole of Europe.
Also enclosed was a rail timetable, a large map of Europe and a letter.
Into Munich and out of Athens. Two options: Eastern Europe or south, through Italy. I was shockingly close in my previous guesses. The Philadelphian told me I’d have 9 and a half hours to plan the trip. There would be no sleeping for me.
I think I will be going through Eastern Europe, rather than Italy. I can either hug the coast or go deep into the heart of the continent. Either path would be a lot of fun would allow me to see places I’ve long wanted to. It’s going to be a good next couple of weeks.
Paris Urine Sauvage
Many people don’t believe me when I tell them about the streets of Paris running yellow. They think I’m making it up. They say things like “That can’t be. The French are very refined, especially the Parisians.” They’ve also never been there.
Paris has public toilets on the streets, but they cost money to use them so tourists mostly use them. I saw more public acts of excretion in Paris than in Beijing, which is shocking. And now comes a story of Paris buildings designed to splash back.
That’s one more layer of defense for me next time I hear how my culture is what’s wrong with the world today.
From Ireland’s Galway Coast
I turned hard and the car bounded down the rutted lane of an old country road. I was following a sign I’d spotted but couldn’t read. This was the part of Ireland where the people speak little English and their signs speak none. The ruts ended in sand at a seaside cemetary. You could see what used to be the church, it’s stone skeleton draped in ivy having been long deprived of it’s wooden roof. Or maybe it had been thatch. Both were common here. The waves splashed the stones below, a silent movie, made so by the wind rolling down the hillside. The Celtic crosses stood defiant like lighthouses in the turbulent sea of emerald grass around them. Warning the living? The dead? I can’t say because these voices, too, spoke in the native tongue from which English has borrowed few words.
Riga Hostels
There are two hostels in Riga with the name “Riga Hostel” which is confusing. Apparently, some guy named Juan used to work at Riga Hostel and then left and started his own place. He has apparently told all of the websites and his guests that the place changed names and moved locations. I didn’t stay there so I don’t know if it’s true or not, but there was quite a bit of confusion on the Internet about it when I was reading. I am just repeating what I heard at Riga Hostel from one of the employees. So if you’ve booked one of the two of these hostels, make sure you know which one you’re going to.
meanderingwoods 
