A diversion to Cesky Krumlov

We’re running on a fairly relaxed schedule, and can squeeze in a couple of days for a side trip before heading to Salzburg. But where? “Trust me”, says Pauline, “I know somewhere special”.

We head out of Vienna towards Salzburg, but change at Linz for Ceske Budejovice back in the Czech Republic. Budejovice? Also known as Budweis? Perhaps we’re doing a brewery tour? I hope the Czechs do a better job of brewing than the Americans, where their Budweiser is sorry imitation of anything that attempts to call itself a beer.

But no we change again. Pilsen? The train chugs south, back towards the Austrian border. It’s slow - we’re definitely heading out into the sticks. All the rail crossings are uncontrolled, so the train inches along blasting its horn continuously. It’s a bit like a bus - whether we stop at a station or not depends on whether passengers push the button.

We arrive at a little out of the way station called Cesky Krumlov. I’ve never heard of it. There’s no platform, and we heave our heavy suitcases directly onto the ground. We bump them over the railway lines to a sad excuse for a shed that serves as the station. Passengers alighting ahead of us grab the one and only taxi waiting, while others take a local bus. We’re left in a desolate wasteland, a run down bit of western civilisation seemingly under Communist rule, and TS Eliot comes back to haunt me.

I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

But Pauline brings me back to reality with a jolt. She’s thought it through. We need a taxi because the 2km walk to our accommodation over heavily cobbled streets would destroy our suitcase wheels. The departing taxi driver radios ahead to his mate, and in a few minutes we’re dropped at our accommodation in the heart of town. Our host Eszter points out the local eateries and craft shops, and we set out to explore the town.

Imagine the wonderland of Prague shrunk to a small town occupying just a small loop in the Vltava River.

There’s a castle, gardens, a tower with a dungeon, a church, gargoyles (with a twist), a brewery, a weir with a fish bypass, bears, chooks, and a criss-cross of little alleyways, each one opening up a jaw-dropping vista, enhanced by the autumn colours and light mist.

Memories of the railway station quickly recede while we take in this gem.  Of course there are cafes, pubs, shops and fast food too - all catering to the tourist koruna.

As I’ve subsequently discovered, this is a UNESCO world heritage area, and for good reason.

Fast food?  Fortunately no KFC, McDonalds or Starbucks polluting the old town - but there is potato on a stick!

It’s a little hard to describe any further, so I’ll carry on letting the photos do it for me in the text, even though they're not in context.

A photo essay if you will.  It saves having to think up superlatives.

All I can say is thank goodness we’re here in the shoulder season.  There are tourists aplenty even in November, and it’s hard to get a decent photo at times.  And why do some tourists have to wear day-glow jackets or carry bright pink handbags?  And then hang around in the prime viewing spot spoiling everyone else's photo??  Perhaps I should set the camera to B&W.

Pauline takes the opportunity to do some shopping in one of the trendy little boutiques. Watch out for some more European glam from this girl in our next set of photos.

Characteristically we eat Czech for our big dinner out.  A shared wurst entree to start, Pauline chooses roast fawn for her main, while I go for Roquefort pork.  Yes, she says, Bambi was delicious, as was the pork, more so washed down by a fine dark ale from the local brewery. Apple strudel completes the evening meal.  Our opinion of Czech cuisine remains unchanged - tasty, warming and filling, but it’s not going to win Gordon Blue awards.

Pauline's done a great job in getting us to Cesky Krumlov.  She's right - it really is a special place, and well worth a couple of nights in a European itinerary.  

We continue to have fond memories of the Czech Republic, but now it’s time to return to Austria - to the home of Mozart, the Sound of Music, and of course a few kms up the road, Mattighofen (the M in KTM).

The excitement mounts.