A few days in King’s Landing (a.k.a. Dubrovnik)

J contemplating a view of the walled old city of Dubrovnik

We’ve been slowly working our way down the map as our invasion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire comes to an end, trying to hold on to warmer weather even as the sun continues its annual migration to Africa, and the days shorten.

At times we’ve felt a bit like migrants too; other than Vienna, we’ve not spent more than three nights in the same place. Thirty nights; twelve different accommodations. We’ve travelled by plane, train, bus, car, bicycle, car ferry and catamaran, plus a lot of walking. Last night there was a thunderstorm, and I could hear raindrops falling on the awning below our window. So we’re starting to think about home again.

A brief stay on Korčula, by way of Hvar

Korčula town (right) from our balcony, with a view across the Strait of Pelješac to the Pelješac peninsula

When J&I were planning our invasion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, we knew that we wanted to visit Split and Dubrovnik during Part B of our adventure (Part A being the bike trip along the Danube to Vienna with F&J2). These were the two most obvious highlights of Croatia’s Dalmatian coast.

But when you look more closely at a map of the Dalmatian coast (such as the 1911 map from Baedeker, below) you can’t help noticing all the islands lying just off the Croatian mainland. They beckoned.

A bit more research revealed that many of these islands were served by regular ferry service, which led to the bright idea: we could island-hop to get from Split down to Dubrovnik! And this is what we’ve done.

The Dalmatian coast, circa 1911

Sidebar: Dalmatia, circa 1911

Here are some additional extracts from the 1911 Baedeker guidebook for Austria-Hungary, covering the coast of Dalmatia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, regions which were then all part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. On this 2023 trip we will visit only Split (which in 1911 was known as Spalato), and Dubrovnik (a.k.a Ragusa), with shorter visits to a couple of the islands that are scattered along the way (Q: why are islands always said to be “scattered”? The word suggests a very negligent and disinterested God).

The Dalmatian coast, circa 1911

Spalato, aka Split, in 1911

Spalato (Split) to Ragusa (Dubrovnik) by steamer, 1911

Ragusa (aka Dubrovnik) in 1911

Bosnia & Herzegovina, circa 1911

Bosnia & Herzegovina (detail), circa 1911

Plan of Spalato [Split], 1911

Plan of Ragusa [Dubrovnik], 1911

A few days in Split, Croatia

A view of Split from Telegrin Peak in Marjan Park

The last part of our invasion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire has us exploring the Dalmatian coast of Croatia: a few nights in Split; a couple of nights on Korčula, one of the smaller islands off the Dalmatian coast; and a final few nights in Dubrovnik, where the forecast tells us to expect some rain. It’s just a taste, really, of the lands that were once known as Yugoslavia, since there are so many other fascinating, beautiful and historic sights to see further inland and along the coast. But you have to start somewhere when you’re getting to know new territory, and we’d decided to start with Split.

Sidebar: Black Lamb and Grey Falcon

This will be our first time visiting any part of the former Yugoslavia, and we will only be seeing Ljubljana and a short stretch of the Dalmatian coast in the brief time that we’ve got. Hopefully we’ll have the opportunity to go back for a more extensive visit another day.

Until fairly recently, I’d only ever had a vague understanding of the complex history of Yugoslavia, and of the Balkans in general. But I’d also known for years that there was one book, first published in 1941 and still considered a classic of the travel genre, which provided the best overview of the history of Yugoslavia.

A few days in Slovenia

Romanca and M at Lake Bled

When J&I were finalizing our itinerary for this trip I saw it as being mainly in two parts: Part A the bike trip from Passau to Vienna with F and J2, Part B a brief sampling of Croatia, which we’d heard so much about from others. The question then became: how to get from A to B in the most elegant and interesting manner.

I’ve explained why Trieste became part of our transition from A to B, but “Why Ljubljana?” you could well be asking. The answer, in a nutshell, might just be “Because Romanca!”

Sidebar: Ljubljana, a.k.a. Laibach

Here’s what Baedeker’s 1899 guidebook to the Eastern Alps had to say about the town of Laibach, now known as Ljubljana (Wikipedia also has a timeline for Ljubljana):

Laibach (aka Ljubljana) in 1899

A few days in Trieste

Miramar Castle

What do you do when you’ve only got a few days to explore Trieste, once the imperial port of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, now a slightly faded but very lively city perched on the edge of the Adriatic?

Easy! You (1) visit as many of Trieste’s historic caffès as possible (& did you know that Illy coffee originated in Trieste, and that Francesco Illy, the founder, invented the predecessor of the espresso machine?); you (2) make a couple of literary pilgrimages—including a coastal walk—in search of Rilke, Joyce, Svevo, and d’Annunzio; and you (3) visit a couple of famous castles.

Sidebar: Rainer Maria Rilke, Jan Morris, and the meaning of Trieste

“Why are M&J visiting Trieste?” you might be wondering. I suppose you could blame it on poetry, or at least: on one particular poet.

Sunday, October 1 and Monday, October 2; the last of Vienna

Canada’s representative at the Museum of Natural History

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

Our time in Vienna is coming to an end, and we’re focussed on the next stage of our invasion of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire: Trieste, the old port of the Empire.

Here are some highlights from our last two days exploring Vienna as pedestrians. In which we (1) visit the Museum of Natural History (F&M); (2) visit the Imperial Furniture Collection (J&J2); (3) attend an anti-WHO rally, at risk to life and limb; and (4) do some serious pastry research. A bonus gallery of interesting graphics will be added if there’s enough time.

Saturday, September 30; another day in Vienna

People taking pictures of Klimt’s The Kiss

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

Fewer words than usual; a bunch of photographs. Some highlights from our second day exploring Vienna as pedestrians.

In which we (1) try out the Vienna Ferris Wheel (as seen in Carol Reed’s The Third Man); (2) visit the Belvedere Museum, home of Klimt’s famous painting The Kiss (and a few other, less famous works); (3) visit the Third Man Museum; and (4) go to the opera.

Friday, September 29; a day in Vienna

The double-headed eagle of the Austro-Hungarian Empire

Fewer words than usual; a bunch of photographs. Some highlights from our first day exploring Vienna as pedestrians.

In which we (1) visit Naschmarkt, a fabulous street market; and (2) explore the area around St. Stephen’s Cathedral, during which a book might be bought at Shakespeare & Co, Vienna.

Thursday, September 28, Traismauer to Vienna; 73 km

Starting selfie in Traismauer: on to Vienna!

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

If yesterday was our penultimate day of cycling, today was our ultimate day, for today we took Vienna!

Sidebar: travel, and books

The question “Which books should I bring with me on this trip?” is one which preoccupies me more than it should. I (M) know of some who take their Kindle along when travelling, but I’ve always needed to have real books when travelling, despite their weight and bulk. Here, for the record, are the books which have accompanied me on our “invasion of the AHE”. They’re all (with the exception of The Club Dumas) fairly compact, and light.

Books to read on the road

Wednesday, September 27; Melk to Traismauer; 58 km

Starting selfie: in front the Bäckerei Konditorei Johannes Mistlbacher in Melk

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

Our penultimate day of cycling—and it’s hard to believe that by Thursday evening our time we’ll be in Vienna.

Part 3: Melk to Vienna via the north bank of the Danube

Note: if all goes as intended, this post will appear—through the magic and mystery of technology —while we are cycling

Here’s what our bikeline guidebook has to say about the third section (of three) of the route between Passau and Vienna. We’ll cover this section in two days, with an overnight midway:

Third section of our route

Cycle route into Vienna

Tuesday, September 26; rest day in Melk; a visit to Melk Abbey

Scale model of Melk Abbey, as displayed in the abbey’s museum

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

Today was a rest day for us, and we’d planned to spend it visiting the main—possibly the only—attraction in Melk: the gloriously photogenic Melk Abbey, which sits on a promontory just behind the town. It is probably more appropriate to say that the town sits below the Abbey, since it is likely that the abbey is the main reason the town is here in the first place: people being drawn here over the centuries to support the operation of—and to seek the protection of—the abbey.

Monday, September 25, Grein to Melk; 44 km

Starting selfie: morning bike ferry to cross the Danube from Grein

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.

The best breakfast buffet yet, and we descend upon it like locusts. We’ve been assigned a discreet table in the corner, which permits “foraging” towards another picnic lunch. The dried apricots are particularly appreciated. The breakfast room attendant cannot be unaware of this practice, which we convince ourselves is universal, and we hope that we are being mistaken for Americans (and I will just note that the word “we” is very useful here, since it is difficult for the reader to determine whether it is intended to be royal or collective)

Sidebar: tourism and travel guidebooks, circa 1911

Tourism in Europe and elsewhere was growing increasingly popular in the late 19th and early twentieth centuries, which is why the Baedeker guidebooks began to be published (along with other guidebooks by competitors such as John Murray, Thomas Cook, and the Muirhead’s Blue Guides). Browsing through old copies of guidebooks from that era, you get a vivid sense of what it was like to travel through the Europe of that day (as you also can by reading almost any of the novels of Henry James).

1911 Baedeker guide

1899 Baedeker guide

Sunday, September 24, Linz to Grein; 62 km

The requisite starting selfie, in which, due to the immutable laws of optics, M once again towers over his diminutive cycling companions

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know.

Breakfast in our hotel’s dining room offers the usual assortment of dry cereals (including muesli), small yoghurts, various breads, jams, juices, fruit etc. Plus those standards of German and Austrian breakfast buffets (which would forever make it difficult for me to live long-term in German or Austrian hotels): a cornucopia of cold, sliced luncheon meats and pale, sliced cheeses. I’m still boycotting speck and all it’s cousins after that unfortunate incident at the Gasthof in der Exlau, upstream (which should perhaps be styled The Unfortunate Speck Incident at the Gasthof in der Exlau, to suggest a final Holmes-and-Moriarity-like showdown in which I barely escape with my life).

Part 2: Linz to Melk via the north bank of the Danube

Note: if all goes as intended, this post will appear—through the magic and mystery of technology —while we are cycling

Here’s what our bikeline guidebook has to say about the second section (of three) of the route between Passau and Vienna. We’ll cover this section in two days, with an overnight midway, and a rest day in Melk:

Second section of our route

Saturday, September 23; a rest day in Linz

Mr Hausgemachte and his basket full of Hausgemachte Kastanie at Jindrak Konditorei in Linz

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know.

Today was a down day for us in Linz, a chance to Rest and Recuperate after two days of cycling downstream. This day we four were divided along gender lines: M and F having decided to take a local bus to visit the Mauthausen Memorial, while J and J2 wanted to check out the Lentos Kunstmuseum in Linz itself.

Sidebar: Baedeker’s guide to our route, from Passau to Vienna, circa 1911

The 1911 Baedeker guidebook for Austria-Hungary includes a section describing the route from Passau to Vienna—which is the same route that the four of us are now cycling.

1911 Baedeker guide

Friday, September 22, Gasthof in der Exlau to Linz; 44 km

F, J2, J, and M pause to contemplate today’s mystery roadside sign: the enigmatic number 21, and the even more enigmatic number 52

Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know.

Today dawned cloudy and cooler; we wouldn’t want you to think that the skies over here were always blue. Breakfast was provided, so we (the royal we here) stuffed our cheeks like squirrels at the buffet: a bowl of muesli with yoghurt (2 sorts), fresh fruit (banana, grapes) and milk; juice; toasted bread with jam (4 varieties, including apricot); and a soft-boiled egg. A choice of hot beverages: coffee, tea, hot chocolate: the usual. Other small items—an apple, a bun, and a couple of sealed packets of Nutella—might have been taken for consumption later, at lunch.

Thursday, September 21, Passau to Gasthof in der Exlau; 60 km

Starting selfie, Passau

Our first riding day begins with mist on the Danube. After a quick breakfast we walk from the hotel back to the train station bike shop to sort out (adjust and test) our bikes (thank you Florian!) We cycle back to our hotel along the river path, ringing our bells furiously as we pass through the hordes of tourists who debouch from the bowels of the “Viking” river boats moored along the quai, scattering them. These massive riverboats are ubiquitous along this stretch of the river, and we will see them in their dozens throughout the day, cruising towards Linz, Vienna, Budapest and perhaps beyond. That is not the life for us, who exult in the healthy cyclists’ life, and the camaraderie of the open road!