The Aggstein castle, along the Danube upstream from Melk, and on the way to Durstein. Paddy Fermor writes of this redoubt in his book "A Time of Gifts", celebrating his 1933 and 1934 walk from Holland to Istanbul. Here is some of his language, written as he sat at the ruins of the castle:
"Enter the Rugii, all the way from southern Sweden (in the 400s). By the middle of the fifth century they were settled along the left bank of the Middle Danube. Odoacer was a Rugian. Odoacer, the first barbarian king after the eclipse of the last Roman Emperor. (Romulus Augustulus). Behind the little town of Aggsbach Markt on the other bank, the woods which had once teemed with Rugians rippled away in a fleece of tree-tops. Odoacer came from a point on the north bank only ten miles downstream. He dressed in skins, but he may have been a chieftain's, even a king's son."
The castle itself dates from the mid 1200s and frequently served as the HQ of bandit kings who plundered traffic on the Danube. Attacked often, but subdued only by siege since the walls were impenetrable, the castle finally fell into ruin and abandonment in the late 1800s.
Our bicycle journey began after breakfast. But breakfast deserves equal billing with everything else. Filip is justified in claiming its supremacy. In addition to the usual cereals and jams, and breads salty and sweet, the Romanian staff (some from Kluj Napoca, a city that Mary and I circled around later but did not visit) hand made a cold casserole of jellied chicken liver pate, as well as cakes of unusually firm but moist substance. We also enjoyed a mechanical marvel, an industrial size egg boiler. It comprised boiling water in a stainless steel container, and a series of wire hangers into which you placed your egg. Each hanger had its own plastic tag, with a different color. Several timers lay about, both mechanical and hour glass. At times eight eggs were cooking simultaneously, each tied by its owner to her own preference for consistency.
We rode through sunny but cool weather, through towns linked by a beautiful bike path. This is wine country and fields of grapes take up much of the lower plains. The towns are all old, and built upon ruins going back to before history is recorded. We eventually crossed over into the walled city of Melk. Here is some more of Fermor's language about Melk, recorded during his 1934 visit:
"Through the last water-meadow, before the mountains resumed their grip, I was approaching one of those landmarks. High on a limestone bluff, beneath two baroque towers and a taller central dome, tiers of uncountable windows streamed away into the sky. It was Melk at last, a long conventual palace cruising above the roofs and the trees, a quinquereme among abbeys."
"Paradox reconciles all contradictions. Clouds drift, cherubim are on the wing, and swarms of putti, baptized in flight from the Greek Anthology, break loose over the tombs.
"Female saints display the instruments of their martyrdom as lightheartedly as dice-boxes and fans. They are sovereign's favorites, land ravines dressed as naiads."
And this brings me to our Melk castle guide, Gerda. Fermor aside, the Melk castle and church have been turned by expensive consultants into a Euro trash of color, space and sound, trivializing the ancient religious relics that lay before us. And Gerda, bless her, had memorized her English speech down to the last comma. There was no interrupting her, and I could sense her pleasure as she appended complex phrases on top of each other, to a point that my eyes rolled back into my head, and I almost slept standing up. It occurred to me that the spiked wheel that failed to achieve the death of St. Barbara might more profitably be employed on Gerda, just to silence her drone.
Comic relief came soon enough as I discovered a construction site in front of the church, and learned that portapotties are called Pippiboxes in German. The construction unearthed incredibly old Roman ruins beneath the Melk castle, but they are being covered up, much like subway construction crews in New York re-bury the old Dutch settlements after completing their projects.
It was market day in Melk, and impressive displays of all the food groups, salt, sugar, fat, and ethanol beckoned urgently to us. Betsy, George, Mary and I stopped for lunch in a 'fast food" establishment, and I greatly enjoyed roast pork and delicious red cabbage.
Back onto our bicycles, we sped back up the Danube towards Durstein, but Mary and I decided to cut back across the river early. We took the wrong ferry and ended up in Spitz. We felt bad that we had gotten ahead of Betsy and George, but as the ferry moved out into the river, they laughed and continued up the bike bath to the correct crossover.
We enjoyed enough afternoon light after we cleaned up to take advantage of a nice local custom. If a winery puts out a straw wreath and a light, it means they are offering their latest wine release for sale, including drinking it on the premises. Mary and I began drinking Gruner Vetliner and were soon joined by Betsy and George.
We enjoyed our final group dinner that evening. The best part was a terrific apricot schnapps. Tomorrow is the bus ride to Vienna, and then everyone goes his own way. The group has been highly entertaining. Several subgroups have known each other forever, but all have allowed entree for interesting conversation and jokes.
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