Day 2 52.5 Kms

The day started out drizzly and grey, so Myrna and Charo donned their rain footgear – plastic bags wrapped around their only pair of trainers. We set out to see a 12th century Cistercian abbey in Wilhering, which was surprisingly difficult to find. After riding through their orchard, we finally found the right gate and the narrow curving street opened out to a huge space bounded by a cloister and a church in the baroque style. The church interior was a gorgeous, gaudy rococo. Wikipedia says, “According to the German art historian Cornelius Gurlitt, ‘the abbey church of Wilhering is the most brilliant achievement of the Rococo style in the German-speaking world.’ It gives the impression that more decoration, colour, sculptures, paintings and stuccowork could not be found in a single place.” How true! All the churches and monasteries along the Danube, although originally built much earlier, were in the baroque style. Austria must have been very rich in the 17th and 18th centuries because every Gothic or renaissance building was redone in baroque style. And since then, the buildings have been meticulously maintained and regularly repainted so that everything looks spanking new.

We took the train to Linz, the capital of upper Austria. We arrived in time for a street or food festival; the main street was temporarily pedestrian and was lined with stalls selling all kinds of bratwursts and other goodies, wines, and brandies in strange long-necked bottles. There were, apparently, many museums to explore, among them the Ars Electronica Center, a new-fangled digital exhibition hall. But we didn’t have time and were hampered by our bikes. So we left a little bit frustrated and continued on to Mauthausen.
The way there was all along a raised path, with the Danube on one side and a canal on the other, maybe it was on a dike. It was pretty at first but after some miles started to get monotonous, after more miles, boring and desolate, and after even more miles, interminable. I was lagging behind everyone and couldn’t keep up no matter how I strained. Ontop of that, there was a steady wind that seemed to be fighting me, pushing me back. I wanted badly to take a train the rest of the way but we were too far from a station so I just had to grit my teeth, and keep pedaling into that annoying wind. Thank goodness, when I thought I could take no more, the landscape changed -- it was amazing how my weariness melted away -- and we rolled into Mauthausen as it was getting dark.

The hotel, to our relief, had an elevator. Teeny and slow, but an elevator. To our annoyance, there was a big difference in the rooms. Myrna and Charo got a corner room that was almost a suite, with a beautiful view of the river and a tub in the big bathroom. Val and my room was smaller, had a weird closet-like entrance, overlooked the back and had no tub. So for us there was no relaxing soak in a hot bath to ease the sore muscles.

We were late for dinner in the hotel so we set out to explore the town, which looked quaint and promising on our way in. Nothing open! Everything was closed, even the bars, and we couldn’t buy even a biscuit. So we ended up, as I had sworn I wouldn’t, in the Chinese restaurant near the hotel, the only establishment open in the whole town … and a Saturday night, at that. The place was owned and run by a Chinese couple, so at least the food was good, and cheap.

The next day we explored the town, which was surprisingly full of religious images nestled in niches on the outside of the houses. I also got to catch a bit of the Sunday Mass, which was quite full and had a very good choir probably made up of the townspeople. It was quite a steep walk up, stairs winding through ivy-covered walls and backyards of old houses. The congregation was very friendly and chatted with Charo and me. And to think that a few miles up another hill there was a concentration camp! It is actually the main tourist sight in Mauthausen. Looking it up on the internet now, the pictures are horrific, so incongruous with the peaceful village we saw, steeped in Catholicism.

Ready, Steady, Go!

Day 1 64.5 km

The tour rep came at 9 and went over the route with us. We didn’t realize until much later how very sketchy and short that orientation was. We were left to find out too much on our own and wasted a lot of time doing so. We spent an hour, precious time as it turned out, with her then set off. We were all excited because, for the first time, we put on all our biking gear and felt very Lance Armstrong-y, as well as a little ridiculous.
How exciting it was to actually be on a bike path, in Europe! The weather was sunny and beautiful , we biked past newly-mown fields with hay gathered into huge rolls (haystacks are a thing of the past it seems!), and sometimes the path wound through the fields. It all felt so good that Charo broke into song! However, after 18 kms of leisurely biking, we consulted our maps and discovered that we had 50 kms more to go. That sobered us up quick. We managed to get some quick sight-seeing in and a nice lunch outdoors. All our meals would be outdoors because the weather was so great. The thighs started feeling the kilometers, though, and the buttocks ... they were burning. At a coffee-break stop we noticed a group of people we had noticed at the start; they had come the same distance as us and were on their way to Aschach, as well. There was a big difference in gear, though: they were in leather shoes and skirts, as if they were going to the mall. No helmets, either. “We’re Dutch,” they explained and, having just come from Amsterdam, I understood.

We arrived at our hotel at last, dying for a hot bath. The hotel was picturesque and actually had a monastic feel, especially the steep stairs. But oops, no elevators and our room was on the 2nd floor (meaning 3 flights of stairs), and – desesperacion! – the bikes had to be hung up on hooks high above my head. There was a healthy, strong-looking young man behind the desk who didn’t lift a finger because, as he said, it was a gasthof not a hotel so we couldn’t expect service. Thank goodness Val was so helpful and so strong. She helped us all with the lifting and dragging and hauling. All of this after having biked 70 kms! That night: Alaxan, stretching, and early to bed.

The starting point

We landed in Amsterdam, where we would change planes to Vienna, and then proceed by rail to Passau in Germany, the starting point of our adventure. Providentially, Charo and I had decided to spend 2 days to discover Amsterdam, so we had time to get over jet lag, and I had time to get over my scratchy throat and nausea from the Tamiflu!

After 2 sun-filled days in Amsterdam, we rendez-voused with Myrna, the third member of our group, in Schipol, on our way to Vienna. This airport is vast and has some surprisingly luxurious outlets and eateries. The one we went to had chocolate in all its forms, with accompanying wine and little snacks. Beside it was one called Bubbles, that had a wall of niches containing champagne and other wines, all available by the glass; to go with it, of course, nothing but caviar, smoked salmon, sashimi and other pricey delectables. All very classy and unexpected in an airport.

The Austrian train was impressively clean .. the toilets were not just clean but huge and had self-opening doors. The countryside on the way to Passau was very neat but not particularly breathtaking. Passau itself was a beautiful medieval town, with narrow winding cobblestoned streets and, surprisingly, many religious icons, very Catholic. It was the biggest diocese in medieval Germany and administered many dioceses along the Danube. There was a reference somewhere to “prince bishops”. Apparently, the bishops and abbots were usually aristocratic and would donate land to their monasteries or dioceses, and would rule them like princes. Passau was a tourist center but there were hardly any foreign tourists, many German ones … Mercedeses and BMWs all over, not a Toyota in sight!

Val, the fourth member of our group, flew in from London and met up with us here. She was the only one of us who had had some previous bike tour experience, and – very important! – knew how to change a flat tire. She knew a lot of other titbits of biking information, as well, and proved to be a great team-member: always helpful, accommodating and flexible, unfailingly cheerful, physically strong, and just great company.

We were disappointed that the tour company didn’t have the maps and bikes ready for us that afternoon, as they had promised. We had been hoping to familiarize ourselves with them. Our blissful ignorance would have to be extended a day longer...

Ignorance is Bliss

Four friends, not-particularly-sporty, a-little-bit-over-forty, took it into their heads that it would be nice to bicycle from Germany to Austria along the Danube Valley. The internet said it was completely flat and, in fact, a little downhill all the way. What could be more pleasant?

First of all, we didn’t know that it was a journey of 400 kilometres. We didn’t know that, despite what the tour website promised, we could not easily hop on and off trains or ferries whenever we felt tired. And we, or I, didn’t know that my thighs would feel like burning bricks were being held against them after I’d biked 40 kilometres. Other things on the list of our ignorance were tire pressure – what would be optimum for best performance, or what would be considered flat. And, once flat, how to change the darned thing.
All I can say about this list of (seemingly important) things that we were ignorant of is: thank goodness we didn’t know! We would never have embarked on this crazy journey if we had been better informed. And we would have missed a most exhilarating, fascinating, challenging and life-enhancing week.

“Ignorance is bliss”, indeed!

Two days before departure, my throat started exhibiting the all too familiar scratchiness and soreness of a strep infection. While downing mega-doses of vitamin C, zinc and Echinacea, I agonized on whether to move my date of departure or to cancel altogether. Just to make life more difficult, our internet connection was down, so Butch had to keep rushing to an internet café in order to move my flights, while I lay in bed and desperately tried to get better. A pep talk from Myrna, and a prescription for Tamiflu tipped the scales against canceling and, since we couldn’t move the dates without huge penalties, I resigned myself to leaving as planned. I felt rotten, though, and went to bed the eve of our departure wondering how I would
manage ...