Day 2 52.5 Kms

The day started out drizzly and grey, so Myrna and Charo donned their rain footgear – plastic bags wrapped around their only pair of trainers. We set out to see a 12th century Cistercian abbey in Wilhering, which was surprisingly difficult to find. After riding through their orchard, we finally found the right gate and the narrow curving street opened out to a huge space bounded by a cloister and a church in the baroque style. The church interior was a gorgeous, gaudy rococo. Wikipedia says, “According to the German art historian Cornelius Gurlitt, ‘the abbey church of Wilhering is the most brilliant achievement of the Rococo style in the German-speaking world.’ It gives the impression that more decoration, colour, sculptures, paintings and stuccowork could not be found in a single place.” How true! All the churches and monasteries along the Danube, although originally built much earlier, were in the baroque style. Austria must have been very rich in the 17th and 18th centuries because every Gothic or renaissance building was redone in baroque style. And since then, the buildings have been meticulously maintained and regularly repainted so that everything looks spanking new.

We took the train to Linz, the capital of upper Austria. We arrived in time for a street or food festival; the main street was temporarily pedestrian and was lined with stalls selling all kinds of bratwursts and other goodies, wines, and brandies in strange long-necked bottles. There were, apparently, many museums to explore, among them the Ars Electronica Center, a new-fangled digital exhibition hall. But we didn’t have time and were hampered by our bikes. So we left a little bit frustrated and continued on to Mauthausen.
The way there was all along a raised path, with the Danube on one side and a canal on the other, maybe it was on a dike. It was pretty at first but after some miles started to get monotonous, after more miles, boring and desolate, and after even more miles, interminable. I was lagging behind everyone and couldn’t keep up no matter how I strained. Ontop of that, there was a steady wind that seemed to be fighting me, pushing me back. I wanted badly to take a train the rest of the way but we were too far from a station so I just had to grit my teeth, and keep pedaling into that annoying wind. Thank goodness, when I thought I could take no more, the landscape changed -- it was amazing how my weariness melted away -- and we rolled into Mauthausen as it was getting dark.

The hotel, to our relief, had an elevator. Teeny and slow, but an elevator. To our annoyance, there was a big difference in the rooms. Myrna and Charo got a corner room that was almost a suite, with a beautiful view of the river and a tub in the big bathroom. Val and my room was smaller, had a weird closet-like entrance, overlooked the back and had no tub. So for us there was no relaxing soak in a hot bath to ease the sore muscles.

We were late for dinner in the hotel so we set out to explore the town, which looked quaint and promising on our way in. Nothing open! Everything was closed, even the bars, and we couldn’t buy even a biscuit. So we ended up, as I had sworn I wouldn’t, in the Chinese restaurant near the hotel, the only establishment open in the whole town … and a Saturday night, at that. The place was owned and run by a Chinese couple, so at least the food was good, and cheap.

The next day we explored the town, which was surprisingly full of religious images nestled in niches on the outside of the houses. I also got to catch a bit of the Sunday Mass, which was quite full and had a very good choir probably made up of the townspeople. It was quite a steep walk up, stairs winding through ivy-covered walls and backyards of old houses. The congregation was very friendly and chatted with Charo and me. And to think that a few miles up another hill there was a concentration camp! It is actually the main tourist sight in Mauthausen. Looking it up on the internet now, the pictures are horrific, so incongruous with the peaceful village we saw, steeped in Catholicism.