You have a great turn of phrase - looking forward to more.

I got caught in a thunderstorm on the autobahn a few weeks ago - zero visibility, couldn't even see the side or the central reservation. Lunatic German cars going nearly as fast as me. But I was chasing a ferry so no Gasthof or for me.

Good start, liking your writing style
Weizen is great, especially the Hefe Weizen, enjoy

Wayne

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The Balkans
https://new.horizonsunlimited.com/poi_entity/8417

My trip towards Hungary in June started in poor weather, which never really improved. Eventually I headed south to Croatia and France and back homewards to UK. Meanwhile at home they were enjoying an unseasonable heatwave, and since I've been home the poor weather has continued to keep me company. Completely agree about the Bavarian hospitality though, one of the few enjoyable parts of a rather disappointing tour

When I left for Austria this morning, I realised I had taken this particular route before. I was following the path of my own footsteps about 30 years ago. Well, the path of the wheels of the Euroline bus that regularly took me to Budapest in the early nineties, when I used to be living in Hungary. In fact, I crossed paths with that same Eurolines bus today, just before the border crossing in Passau. Waived to the bus driver, which he seemed to appreciate. Funny thing, I never actually layed eyes on that particular border crossing until now: we always used to pass it in the dead of night.

During my time in Hungary I got acquinted with what one of the English expats described as 'the solace of Habsburg'. He was referring to the cafe culture in the old Austro-Hungarian empire in general, and to its particular proponents in Szeged, where we were living. We partook of the solace of Habsburg everyday during lunchtime, meaning we bought ourselves the best possible lunches (dirt-cheap at the time) and enjoyed them on the balcony terrace of the Cafe Vienne. We thought ourselves to be very refined. Lucky bastards we were.

Well, crossing the Danube on my way to Lower Austria, I felt I was definitely in need of some Habsburgian solace again. The day was heating up to 36 degrees Celsius, the asphalt had already reached 55 degrees as the Austrian police sign next to the highway drily told me, and I had managed to put on my cooling vest backwards. The magnificent view towards the Alps on my right was somewhat lost on me. After a gruelling 200 km, I consoled myself with a molten icecream from the bottom of the freezer at the petrol station. No Habsburgian romance there, but it did the trick.

Arriving at my hotel for the night, I was a bit nonplussed to find the doors shut and no-one there. The hotel was closed for the season. During the summer holidays? A bit odd. A quick call assured me that there was indeed a room made available to me, but that I would have the place to myself. Somewhat like the hotel from The Shining, Alright, no problem, we go with the flow.

Imagine my surprise when, late in the evening, a few other guests turned up, Lithuanians who seemed to be lost in time, space and language. Confusion reigned. In the end, I decided to act as hotel manager myself and showed them a room. A few hours later I was awakened by some noise coming from the kitchen. When I went to take a look, there was nobody there, but spread out on the table lay some paperwork. Which turned out to be a hotel bill for me, with an 50% price hike! Somewhat irate, I sent a message to the ghostly hotel owner. Though seemingly very busy in his spiritual realm, he did manage to convey to me that it was all a misunderstanding. Which was the least he could do, considering it took him until 2 a.m. to come up with a reply.

After my delayed sleep being cut short by Lithuanians banging on pots and pans in the kitchen to achieve their breakfast, I decided now was the time to evoke the solace of Habsburg. I rode down to the town of Melk, put the bike on the town square and sat down at the first available table of the Cafe Madar. A Viennese breakfast please! And so it was promptly served up, by a waiter in a pinguin suit. The eggs benedicte were perfection, the coffee beyond compare. Solace indeed!

Why did I go to the town of Melk? It's a gentle historic town that basically owes its existence to the huge Benedictine monastery that has been sitting there on a steep hill in its centre since 1089, in some form or other. Its current incarnation dates from the 18th century and is considered to be a prime example of Austrian Baroque. What mainly drew me there, was its library, which is said to contain more than 100.000 books, many from medieval times, or earlier.

It was definitely a magnificent place to visit. Though there were a lot of tourists groups (the busses from Vienna unload them in the morning), their number was made insignificant by the size and grandeur of the building complex. I made straight for the library and waited a while for the guided tours to pass by. And then, just for a minute, I had the place to myself. Thousands of historic books in elegantly designed cabinets, a painted ceiling to rival the Italian pallazo's and the sun shining through rounded windows. A glorious dream. And a moment I would wish to carry with me into eternity.

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You're right, the weather has been pretty crazy. Never expected it to be such a dominant factor during the trip, especially at the end, when I revisited Bavaria. I'll write some more about it later on.

Szeged is a nice town, I was there in Nov 2015 during my Balkans trip when the winter market was on.
I thought the town was very picturesque

Wayne

__________________
The Balkans
https://new.horizonsunlimited.com/poi_entity/8417

Szeged is nice indeed, though a little bit less rough around the edges nowadays. In the 90s, during the Yugoslav war, it was a hub for smugglers and you could buy old Soviet machine guns at the market on the other side of the Tisza river. Never needed one luckily...

Coming in from Lower Austria, the main highway brings you into Slovakia over the Danube river and into its floodplain. It's a flat expanse that almost feels unnatural when you come in from the Alps. The road either takes you to Budapest of Bratislava. I chose the latter.

It was sweltering. According to a digital sign next to the road, the temperature on the asphalt was now 61 degrees Celsius. I was worrying about my tires. I had put on some Anakee Wilds for the gravel roads ahead. The heat seemed to get to them. The back tire felt like chewing gum.

Then suddenly a panoramic view on Bratislava. It's a city that has developed like quicksilver in the last 20 years. The skyline is filled with gleaming skyscrapers, looming over the floodplain. Impressive, but also somewhat unsettling.

I had no business in Bratislava, having my sights set on the Tatra mountains. So I passed by the city and rode on into the countryside of central Slovakia. Now there was a sight for sore eyes. Rolling hills of green and gold, with a dash of red-roofed farms and villages here and there. The fields of wheat, stretching to the horizon, were close to harvest, but yet to be disturbed.

Slowly, in the west, the first mountains started appearing. Not like the dramatic peaks of the Alps, but lower and ostensibly older. The highway slowly took me in their direction. As I closed in on the town of Banska Bystrica, I entered the first forested valleys. The temperature finally dropped to an acceptable level. The back tire seemed to regain its strength somewhat. I certainly did.

I'd rented an apartment in the outskirts of Banska Bystrica from Ivan, whose girlfriend had turned the lower floor of their house into a wonderful little treasure cove. It was definitely comfortable and I decided to stay an extra day. A bit of rest would do me good. Ivan was happy that I liked the place and gave me a bottle of his own home-brewn slivovica, which was a tad on the strong side, "probably 52%". Well, that would do me good as well.

Having sufficiently recovered, the next day I decided to take on the High Tatra. Straight out of Banska Bystrica I rode up the first available mountain pass. Cue a few fabulous hours of unadulterated two-wheeled joy, swooping from one curve into the other, racing up to the peaks and sliding back down to the valleys like a hawk. Pure motorcycle heaven.

Then I took the road to Dolny Kubin, up in the north. I wanted to see Orava Hrad, a castle perched high on a pillar of rock. It turned out be as beautiful as reputed, but also swarming with tourists. With so much motorcycle fun to be had, I didn't see the need to line up for a crowded group tour, so I continued on my way through the mountains.

South of the mining town of Ruzomberok, I happened upon a small road leading into the mountain range. Could I, should I? I would. So up the road I went, and though it wasn't in a great condition (welcome in the land of Potholia), it turned out to lead to a very interesting destination. Up on the mountain lay the village of Vlkolinec.

Vlkolinec is famous because people end up spitting their teeth out as they try to pronounce its name. Sorry, bad joke. No, it's actually one of the last mountain villages with original Slovakian wooden houses, and it's a lovely little place, very rustic and welcoming. For a small fee I got to explore it. The village is still inhabited and I understand why, it has an indelible charm to it. The local inn serves up some great Harul'a brundzou, potato pancakes with sheep's cheese. Truly very enjoyable.

Yes, I could get used to this. The Tatra has a lot to offer to an unsuspecting visitor. I hardly met any other foreigners (except at Orava castle, where they;'d been shipped in by tour bus from Bratislava). But for me, it's the good life.

Now give me some more of that Tvrdsie Napoje, and a bit of Slovnaft for the bike, please!

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I had a situation like that in Finland last year, chasing the ferry to Germany. I arrived at ferry port completely soaked, only to be made waiting 2 hours in the rain. Glad I took some whiskey with me....