Goulash and Paprikash

Vienna, Austria – Lednice, Czech Republic – Holesov, Czech Republic

Just a quick note with a few tidbits from the week away from the blog . . .

It’s Sunday afternoon and we’re heading toward Vienna. We’re all hungry, but there’s nowhere to stop. Partially because we’re on the Danube Bike Trail – which is not on the beaten track. And partially because it’s Sunday and everything is just closed on Sunday. (I guess another rule? “Thou shalt not be open on Sundays!”)

It’s also super windy. A direct headwind. Which never helps the mood. 

So after a few hours of riding on empty, we take matters into our own hands – looking on Google Maps for anything that might be open anywhere near the trail we’re biking on . . .

After an extensive search we find a place: Pizzeria Alfonso I think it was called . . . 

When we arrive we discover that it is actually run by Turks – not Italians. Wonderful people. Ugur and Anil.

Ugur is a more recent immigrant, who purchased the place from an Italian family about a year ago. He subsequently added things like kebab and baklava to the menu. He seems to be doing a great job because the place was busy and it was pretty obvious that the staff really enjoyed their work. 

Anil was actually born in Austria. His parents immigrated in like 1990 or so – but the whole family still visits their ancestral home on the Black Sea every year. Anil is a banker during the week, but helps out at the restaurant on the weekends. Kind of the definition of hard working!

We enjoyed a wonderful, reviving, lunch – and we’re treated to baklava on the house as we went out the door. More in our continuing pattern of having much more deep and meaningful conversations with immigrants than with the folks who have lived here for generations. 

I guess that’s pretty similar to what people say about Minnesota, with our stoic Scandinavian roots . . .

On the cycling front, I’m guessing some of you are curious what the girls used for bikes on our trip from Budapest to Vienna. 

Goulash and Paprikash.

That’s what the girls named their bikes. Not as cool as Old Dan and Little Ann – but good names for Hungarian bikes…

So where did we get them? Well, in the weeks before we all arrived in Budapest Lauren scoured Facebook Marketplace. (One more thing you could never have done before the internet). When Diana and I arrived, a day early, we connected with a few of these folks. 

The first try was not so good . . . We walked half-way across town, only to find that the candidate bike was not rideable. The front tire was completely flat, the chain was super rusty, and the rear brakes didn’t work at all. I figured I could probably fix it up – but it would be a project – and probably many hours – and we needed the bikes working by the next day. 

So we took a pass.

This is one of those situations where our marriage shines. Because, left to my own devices, I would have just waited until the next day to arrange another meeting. Sometimes I need a little kick in the butt . . . And, of course, my wife is pretty good at delivering said kick . . .

We ended up arranging our second rendezvous for like 9 p.m. that evening. Half way across town once again . . .

But this one turned out better. The bike that would become Paprikash. 

The guy we met was selling his Mom’s bike. Of course, I’m thinking: “Yeah, that makes sense. She’s probably like 80 and too old to bike . . .”

Except that when I asked, he told me that his Mom is 55. A year younger than I am. 

I guess we are old . . .

For about $100, Paprikash turned out to be a pretty good bike. But only after we figured out how to adjust internal hub gearing. Fortunately, YouTube videos cover pretty much everything these days . . . And AI takes care of the rest . . .

Goulash, which I picked up the next day, was also pretty good – but she did have her challenges. First off, the seller did not speak a lick of English. So my trip to pick her up was kind of an adventure. Take the train to a school someplace, and then meet the guy in front of the school. 

That was the plan. Except when I arrived I received a note from the seller:

“Egy kicsit kések,mert jöttek a vízműtől. Szíves türelmét köszönöm szépen!”

Which translates to:

“They’re a little late because they came from the waterworks. Thank you very much for your patience!” 

After about an hour standing on the street corner, we finally connected. 

Goulash has actual gears – no internal hub stuff. So that’s good. But, as we discovered, Goulash’s brakes leave a little bit to be desired. She really needed new brake pads – but, alas, we never found an open bike shop. 

In the end, though, we were more interested in going than stopping – so it all worked out. And she was only about $75.

Sadly, after their loyal service, we had to part ways with our humble steeds. They carried Ellie and Lauren from Budapest, through Hungary, over the bridge and into Slovakia and Bratislava, and then through Austria and into Vienna. And now they reside with friends Andreas and Lena. So at least they have a good home. 

Bratislava. 

She’s kind of the ugly stepsister to Budapest and Vienna. Doesn’t get nearly the attention . . .

But we really enjoyed the capital of Slovakia. It’s a smaller city, which makes it much more approachable. Looked like great public transit – with trams running all around town. Cool bridges with pedestrian and bike decks criss-crossing the Danube. And it was even an easy walk to the movie theater. We saw Superman – which was surprisingly good. (Turns out that most movies seem to be shown in English with subtitles. Works out well, except for the scenes that are not in English – because, like the rest of the movie, the subtitles for those scenes were also in Slovak . . .)

And then, one thing I’ve been thinking about on Austria and the Czech Republic, and, really, most of Europe…

There are big crucifixes and religious symbols all over the place around here. Now, I don’t mind these things if they are part of a church or on private land. But they seem to be in very public places. The greeting as you enter town. Up on the hill looking down on the town. In the public parks. That type of thing. 

And I keep thinking . . . With all these reminders of religion and Jesus’ teachings – like “Love Thy Neighbor” – how could the Europeans end up in a mess like World War II? Did they cover the symbols up for the duration of the war and the atrocities? And, if not, what is really the point of the religion? Maybe someone has some thoughts on this . . .

So that catches us up a bit . . .

Next post maybe we’ll have more to say on the Czech Republic – other than the Great Plum Debacle!

Or, maybe we’ll skip right to Poland, since we’re expecting to land there tomorrow. Thoughts on Krakow?