I met Helen in Barcelona and we hopped around Iberia together, a schedule determined by some must see places, Easter accommodation troubles (who knew the Spanish were so Catholic?) and my grandmother's 80th birthday/surprise family reunion in Alsace. So after a week of Gaudi, tapas and shoes- Catalonians must live off shoes for where there were literally hundreds of shoe stores, we had no hope of finding a single supermarket- we flew to Porto to rehydrate on its namesaken fortified wines in cellars, wine bars, restaurants, our hotel room.. wherever we could really. Then to Lisboa to climb steep hills to anything worth visiting, to spend the sunny days exploring or just sitting in great art deco cafes, and when we were not eating the natas (Portuguese tarts) to spend hours looking longingly at them through glass shopfronts, guessing and predicting, contrasting and comparing. Each night, back down to earth (aka our dingy hotel room) after a delicious dinner of fish, wine from the Doura and of course, our new friend, Port. I loved the bachalau, a smoked cod and potato dish and was delighted that the winter tradition of roasting chestnuts on the streets does not stop here when spring arrives.
In Sevilla oranges hang from pregnant trees for the picking. The flamenco dancer sends shivers down my spine- she so severe, tormenting and uplifting all at once. Ahh.. Granada. Little Morocco. We went for the Alhambra, but having not prebooked tickets weeks in advance, we queue as if for a rock concert, with no guarnatee that arriving well before dawn will be rewarded by entry. And it is decidedly the most wondrous of Moorish palaces and gardens! Madrid, our final Iberian fling, with its wonderful Prado and Rena Sofia museums and truly cosmopolitan air, was full of bravado, like their churros (how they eat fried batter dipped in chocolate first thing in the morning!), caring only for the present.
Oma's birthday in Strasbourg was all about family for never have so many of us been in the same place at the same time. It had been 35 years since all five of her children were together! We drive the wine road, visiting castles and villages, we eat flammenkuchen (aka tarte flambe) when we dont choose the white asparagus we find pleasingly in season. Munich. A naked English Garden, surfers making the most of a man-made wave, WWII history, the Hofbrauhaus and beer-I dont drink it, but I did here. A new city rebuilt as old. Then to Nuremburg for a couple of nights in Bavarian heartland.
A few days later we are in the midst of our transnation bike journey across Austria, more than 350km in 6 days, Passau to Vienna. What a ride! Every bend along the Danube, a new backdrop. The regions we visited I think showcased the best of Austria, natural and historical. I only have to sing and Hel magically gets re-energised and dashes further ahead. Songs from the Sound of Musıc she fınds most energisimg for some reason.
In Vienna we arrive and notice others with the same awkward gait, the same bruised tailbones and sore joints. They must have ridden here too. A beautiful baroque city, the capital of the former Austro-Hungarian empire, the home of the Hapsburgs, the kaffeehaus and Freud, of course. The Belvedere housed some wonderful artworks, my favourite are the Gustav Klimt pieces (his paintings actually glow-gold). I enjoy my first experience of a symphony orchestra and wonder why I had not been before. Oxidised copper green rooves, domed shaped, of the palaces and art houses, and the nature-inspired art nouveau touches stick in my memory.
We're so close, we might as well go... to Budapest. A hostel-come-Buddhist retreat is our home for 3 nights and the city reveals itself as a mixing pot of Eastern and Western Europe, full of history, struggle and, of course, wonderfully beautiful. We eat goulash and salami. Paprika is in everything. We sip on Unicum- a strong, herbal aperitif, and I go on a search the house of Szabo marzipan, but find only small boutiques that sell the sweets, they dont offer the showcase it deserves. Helen checks out the natural spring Turkish-style baths famous here.
South to Llubljana, capital of Slovenia. This city is filled with medieval architecture. We stay near the Dragon Bridge and I feel like Im in an episode of She-Ra, complete with dark forests, castles and fire-breathing mythical creatures. The people are wonderful, even on the surface. I read somewhere that Slovenian sounds like Russian dripping with honey. I think it sounds even sweeter. We see a puppet show, visit the castle, relax by the river and sample some fantastic Slovenian reds (in the wine bar, Hel bumps into someone she knows!). Our last day in Slovenia is spent at Lake Bled, a window-lake, so clear it is like peering into an aquarium. The famous lake island and church can only be reached by boat. The most appealing boats are the Slovenian-style gondolas, with huge red-faced men manouvering upright oars to take us and a dozen others across. I see why this lake is the holiday spot for the outdoorsy, nature-loving Slovenians.
Croatia, from where I write this, is similarly a very happy discovery. We visited Split, an ancient palace-turned-city at the entrance to the Dalmatian Coast, Hvar Island for a real Adriatic, relaxing few days (sadly, the lavendar fields were not blooming), and now Dubrovnik. This coast is perfect for island-hopping by ferry. When we took the bus one leg we did briefly enter Bosnia, a hassle as we had to scurry for passports in our packs, underneath the bus. These former Yugoslavian countries appear to have healed well since 1991, though I wonder how- depite politically- Croatia differed before. The grey igneous mountains would have stood just as majestically, the waters would have shimmered all the same, and people dont change all that much.
Here I write postcards home asking someone to invent a way to transplant Berlin to this very spot. The water beckons, even when fully clothed, I want to jump in. Beaches without sand, while taking a while to adjust to can be suprisingly comfortable, like lying on a Masseur sandle. No need to rinse feet or shower at all really. The salt on my skin reminds me of home and I leave it there as long as possible. The Old Town in Dubrovnik was bombed only 16 years ago but when climbing along its high walls, circumventing the city, this is hard to fathom. I feel so at peace up here. The view cannot be described, photographs will not do it justice.
I catch the plane for Dublin tonight and look forward to 2 weeks exploring another corner of the world. Forget eco-tourism, the country promotes alco-tourism and while Guinness does not take my fancy, I am a devoted fan of Baileys and will be quite content visiting Ireland's second-most important institution after the Church.. the Irish pub.
Storks nestıng near the Orangerie, Strasbourg. These bırds are the emblem for Alsace.
Family at Oma's birthday, all together after 35 years.
Towns on the Wıne Road have the cutest little houses- not German, not French- Alsacian.
Helen, a Cosmopolitan, in Vienna, about to eat handmade asian noodles. She's happy.
Canola oil fields are brıght yellow this time of year. A break from the bike.
Fındıng some shade in Croatia.
In the gardens of the Alcazar, Sevilla.
Had to go to the Freud Museum in Vienna.
Outside La Sagrada Familie, Barcelona. Honeycombed Gaudi wonder. Unfortunately under construction, all of Europe seems to be.
Helen and I, fountain in Lisboa.
Ahh.. Dubrovnik, the Old Town viewed from the town wall.
Sign reads: WHY CALL IT TOURIST SEASON IF WE CANT SHOOT THEM? He he he. Vıew from Park Guell, Barcelona.
Our hotel rooms were sometimes restaurants and laundries too! Love the toilet paper for serviettes.
Drew, architecture student actually being paid to travel the world! Having a drink on Hvar Island.
On ferry, view over to Split.
Porto at night.
Dinner in Madrid. Stumbled upon this locals restaurant and got alot more for our Euro. And delicious!
Magic trick: Nata, nata, nata, I turn you into nada, nada, nada.
On the Danube bike trail.
Houses covered in what looks like Delft plates in Porto.
View over Granada from the Alhambra. Magıcal. While taking it we knew the depth could not be translated to the two dımensional. This was 1000 times more magical in reality.
Neuschwanstein. Ludwıg II and his obsession with Wagner led to it. A love story but no fairy tale.
Beautiful Budapest. View from Pest over Buda. Largest building is the Hungarian Parliament. Spectacular.
