Concerts abound. Happy to have opportunities to find amusement indoors, we have been taking advantage of them and of the art galleries. Outdoors it is cold and usually gray. As an Eskimo peers through an ice hole watching for the shadow of a fish to spear, I sometimes look at the afternoon sky hoping to see the blur of the sun behind the crust of clouds. Although this period will make springtime all the more exhilarating--the frequent snowfalls are mesmerizing to watch, and their white coat is clean and appealing--I'd just as soon do without too prolonged or too severe a contrast.
Recently we had a fine break from the cold and cloudiness, and it fell on a Sunday, sunny and in the low 50s, so we took advantage of it for a car trip and headed west along the Danube. A stretch of about 30 miles from Krems to Melk took us past Duernstein and its crumbling castle, which sits high on a hill above the river. It is where Richard Lionheart was held for ransom after being captured on his way home to England from the Crusades. (If Robin Hood had had any idea of the view here, he might not have gone to so much trouble to help raise funds to free the king. Among other things, we read, the ransom money went for Vienna's city defenses, including the huge wall that ringed it in the Middle Ages.) Smooth and wide, the Danube winds gently at this point, with the highway and towns built surprisingly close to the water's edge. The hillsides are nearly all groomed with vineyards, which at this time of year look like cornrows of wildly unmanageable brown hair, tangled and bundled along wires stretching from the highway to the hilltops. This area, called the Wachau, is said to produce the best white wine in Austria; given what I have sampled of this country's wines, however, that may be like the boast that Philadelphia produces the best scrapple in Pennsylvania. From Krems to Melk, the little towns look more medieval than modern.
We stopped at Melk, planning to tour a huge 11th-century monastery that rests high above the city. Rebuilt in the 18th century, the structure on two occasions served as Napoleon's headquarters. Although the monastery is closed until April, we wandered its grounds and arcades and walks, thinking how beautiful this setting is, with its elaborate gardens and fountains and view of the Danube. We promised ourselves to return when it re-opens. We made our way to the bottom of the hill and into the old part of Melk. Much from previous centuries shows through, not just in the thick stone walls of some structures, with projecting stone blocks to prevent damage by carriage wheels, but also in the swirled and arched brickwork of the pavement. We walked across a highway and went onto an old iron bridge spanning a canal that parallels the river. Like monks in prayer, a dozen or so brown ducks sat in a line on a fallen tree suspended from the shore out to the middle of the water, catching the rays of the January sun and softly quacking their orisons. With eyes unfocused, we watched the water, with the not unpleasant feeling of being a speck in history.
Our walk back through Old Melk took us up centuries-old stone steps and back through the monastery grounds to the hill top, an ascent from the 21st century to the 11th. The Benedictines knew how to pick a place where earth meets heaven.
This Sunday, weather permitting, we'll drive back to Melk and then to Mauthausen, further up the Valley, following Rick Steves' advice: "After touring the glorious Melk Abbey, douse your warm, fairy-tale glow with a bucket of Hitler at the Mauthausen concentration camp memorial."
Filler
-- Although the noon sun is still low in the sky, the days are getting noticeably longer, and once again we have nearly 9 hours of daylight. Even though the temperatures may just be in the high 20s, the humidity remains high, usually around 90 percent, a catalyst for the cold to penetrate knit caps, leather gloves, and leather shoes, and when there is an assist from the wind, my coat as well. I think of my kids when they were toddlers, and how we used to bundle them up for the Blacksburg winters until they looked like quilted beach balls and could hardly move. I must plan time when going out and coming in for the donning and removal of a similar number of layers. When I come in from outdoors, I must leave my shoes at the door, and not just because of the slush that has accumulated on the edges of heels and soles. Most walks are liberally strewn with gravel, and dozens of bits of it lodge in shoe treads; I have to pry out the largest so that they do not scar the wood parquet floors in the apartment.
-- Sunday night we had 4" of snow. When we got up at 6 a.m. Monday, the sidewalks and roads had already been cleared. The tram cars have special containers of grit and gravel under selected seats, for use by the driver when the tracks get icy. Sometimes, when the tram is stopped at a light, the driver will get off with a small spade and work on the tracks immediately in front of the train. Drivers also get up from their seats to help the elderly, and they allow passengers extra time to get on and off when conditions are slippery.
-- In addition to goulash, soup menus at this time of year commonly offer beef broth with a choice of liver dumplings or lung dumplings. There is no indication as to which beast these parts come from, cloven-hoofed, round-hoofed, or amphibian.
-- The city museum exhibits many items from the Turkish siege of 1683. Among the swords and muskets and armor and banners are standards festooned with horse tails. A description next to one of the standards states that the number of horse tails displayed was an indication of the rank of the officer. I strained to understand how such a meaning could have originated. Were these tails from random unlucky horses, or perhaps from captured horses, evidence of a custom like the taking of scalps? I remembered reading years ago of the officers in the egalitarian Chinese People's Liberation Army, whose rank was denoted only by the number of ballpoint pens in their breast pockets. Maybe a certain amount of whimsy helps keep death and destruction in perspective.
Recycling.
--The gravel that is liberally strewn on sidewalks here when they become icy is to be swept up and deposited in special boxes for re-use, not brushed into lawns or drains.
-- On the sidewalk in front of me downtown, an elderly woman stopped suddenly and stooped to pick up a crumpled kleenex. She blew her nose in it and put the treasured find in her pocket.
Recently we had a fine break from the cold and cloudiness, and it fell on a Sunday, sunny and in the low 50s, so we took advantage of it for a car trip and headed west along the Danube. A stretch of about 30 miles from Krems to Melk took us past Duernstein and its crumbling castle, which sits high on a hill above the river. It is where Richard Lionheart was held for ransom after being captured on his way home to England from the Crusades. (If Robin Hood had had any idea of the view here, he might not have gone to so much trouble to help raise funds to free the king. Among other things, we read, the ransom money went for Vienna's city defenses, including the huge wall that ringed it in the Middle Ages.) Smooth and wide, the Danube winds gently at this point, with the highway and towns built surprisingly close to the water's edge. The hillsides are nearly all groomed with vineyards, which at this time of year look like cornrows of wildly unmanageable brown hair, tangled and bundled along wires stretching from the highway to the hilltops. This area, called the Wachau, is said to produce the best white wine in Austria; given what I have sampled of this country's wines, however, that may be like the boast that Philadelphia produces the best scrapple in Pennsylvania. From Krems to Melk, the little towns look more medieval than modern.
We stopped at Melk, planning to tour a huge 11th-century monastery that rests high above the city. Rebuilt in the 18th century, the structure on two occasions served as Napoleon's headquarters. Although the monastery is closed until April, we wandered its grounds and arcades and walks, thinking how beautiful this setting is, with its elaborate gardens and fountains and view of the Danube. We promised ourselves to return when it re-opens. We made our way to the bottom of the hill and into the old part of Melk. Much from previous centuries shows through, not just in the thick stone walls of some structures, with projecting stone blocks to prevent damage by carriage wheels, but also in the swirled and arched brickwork of the pavement. We walked across a highway and went onto an old iron bridge spanning a canal that parallels the river. Like monks in prayer, a dozen or so brown ducks sat in a line on a fallen tree suspended from the shore out to the middle of the water, catching the rays of the January sun and softly quacking their orisons. With eyes unfocused, we watched the water, with the not unpleasant feeling of being a speck in history.
Our walk back through Old Melk took us up centuries-old stone steps and back through the monastery grounds to the hill top, an ascent from the 21st century to the 11th. The Benedictines knew how to pick a place where earth meets heaven.
This Sunday, weather permitting, we'll drive back to Melk and then to Mauthausen, further up the Valley, following Rick Steves' advice: "After touring the glorious Melk Abbey, douse your warm, fairy-tale glow with a bucket of Hitler at the Mauthausen concentration camp memorial."
Filler
-- Although the noon sun is still low in the sky, the days are getting noticeably longer, and once again we have nearly 9 hours of daylight. Even though the temperatures may just be in the high 20s, the humidity remains high, usually around 90 percent, a catalyst for the cold to penetrate knit caps, leather gloves, and leather shoes, and when there is an assist from the wind, my coat as well. I think of my kids when they were toddlers, and how we used to bundle them up for the Blacksburg winters until they looked like quilted beach balls and could hardly move. I must plan time when going out and coming in for the donning and removal of a similar number of layers. When I come in from outdoors, I must leave my shoes at the door, and not just because of the slush that has accumulated on the edges of heels and soles. Most walks are liberally strewn with gravel, and dozens of bits of it lodge in shoe treads; I have to pry out the largest so that they do not scar the wood parquet floors in the apartment.
-- Sunday night we had 4" of snow. When we got up at 6 a.m. Monday, the sidewalks and roads had already been cleared. The tram cars have special containers of grit and gravel under selected seats, for use by the driver when the tracks get icy. Sometimes, when the tram is stopped at a light, the driver will get off with a small spade and work on the tracks immediately in front of the train. Drivers also get up from their seats to help the elderly, and they allow passengers extra time to get on and off when conditions are slippery.
-- In addition to goulash, soup menus at this time of year commonly offer beef broth with a choice of liver dumplings or lung dumplings. There is no indication as to which beast these parts come from, cloven-hoofed, round-hoofed, or amphibian.
-- The city museum exhibits many items from the Turkish siege of 1683. Among the swords and muskets and armor and banners are standards festooned with horse tails. A description next to one of the standards states that the number of horse tails displayed was an indication of the rank of the officer. I strained to understand how such a meaning could have originated. Were these tails from random unlucky horses, or perhaps from captured horses, evidence of a custom like the taking of scalps? I remembered reading years ago of the officers in the egalitarian Chinese People's Liberation Army, whose rank was denoted only by the number of ballpoint pens in their breast pockets. Maybe a certain amount of whimsy helps keep death and destruction in perspective.
Recycling.
--The gravel that is liberally strewn on sidewalks here when they become icy is to be swept up and deposited in special boxes for re-use, not brushed into lawns or drains.
-- On the sidewalk in front of me downtown, an elderly woman stopped suddenly and stooped to pick up a crumpled kleenex. She blew her nose in it and put the treasured find in her pocket.
Do the Wienese treasure toilet paper the same way?
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