Travel Notes

I had wanted to visit Eisenstadt for a long time, but kept putting it off, even though more than once I'd been told the town was beautiful.

And so I finally got round to it, to see whether it was really as good as rumour claimed.

I wasn't wrong: there is plenty to see. A typical small medieval town where the cultures of different countries and centuries are mixed together, from the early Middle Ages right up to the present day. The Hungarians, Germans, French and even the Turks, who once stormed it on their way to Vienna, have all left their traces here.

And the town itself is ancient. It existed back in the days of the Celts, who lived here. It was first mentioned in the chronicles as early as 1118.

The name Eisenstadt has an interesting translation: it means Iron City. The question is, why was it called that? Perhaps because iron ore used to be mined here? But I found no mention of it.

Or perhaps because it was so resilient that the armies of its enemies were smashed against its gates?

Though it was defeated more than once.

Still, there is some hidden meaning in the name of the town.

By the way, this town is the capital of Burgenland, one of the federal states of Austria.

But what I liked most in the town was the Esterházy Palace with its Palace Park, which has already turned five hundred years old.

I looked at the map and decided to head to the village of Kobersdorf, where there is a beautiful fortress with an interesting history.

The thing is that outwardly it resembles the fortresses in Kazan and Pskov. I saw something similar in Switzerland. True, the Russian fortresses are on a larger scale. But they were built at roughly the same time. Evidently the masters came from the same school.

So, the fortress was built in 1500. Compared with the castles nearby, this one is relatively young.

In the 18th century it was destroyed, and it stayed that way until the beginning of the 20th century. Then it was bought by a highly successful woman architect. The architect restored it to its original form, and now the fortress belongs to her family.

In other words: the fortress is private and entry is forbidden, as it says at the entrance. But there are special days when anyone who wishes can visit.

All the same, I decided to take a look at the castle. Inside there is a whole working estate. Beautiful. Greenhouses. Chickens running around. At a table-tennis table an elderly man is playing with a little girl. Surely his granddaughter. They didn't even notice me.

By the way, the little coffee places were open. Eating inside was not allowed, but outside, please do!

The coffee was thick. Good.

It was a good day.

While part of my family was storming the Eiffel Tower, I decided to stroll around the neighbourhood, and soon saw several groups of thimble-riggers “working” right at the entrance to the grounds. After standing nearby for a few minutes, I immediately worked out which of them was the barker, which was the happy holder of the “winnings”, and which was the outright sucker.

The only thing I couldn't work out was their nationality, but that they weren't French was certain. They didn't look Arab, and you couldn't call them Serbs or Croats either.

They worked skilfully, at an international level: they clapped their hands and shouted “bravo”...

I took a few pictures of the players. First from a distance, then closer, then almost right up against them. I realised I was somehow being pushed away from the thimble-riggers, shielded by their backs... And then one of them turned to me and asked bluntly:

- Are you from the police?

- No.

- Who are you?

- Just a passer-by.

- What nationality?

- Russian.

I could see something change in his face.

- I understand Russian, - he replied in Russian.

- What nationality are you?

- I'm from Romania.

Hm, almost a Moldovan. So almost one of our own.

- We won't have any problems?

- Don't worry. We won't. I'm not from the police.

- Just don't take pictures.

- All right.

After standing a little longer, I set off towards the Seine.

This time I headed to Carinthia, a federal state of Austria in the south of the country, where it borders Slovenia and Italy. To the west lie Tyrol and Salzburg. To the east, Styria.

At different times Carinthia belonged to different countries and various peoples. First it was part of the Roman Empire, then the Slavs came, after that the land was held by the Avar Khaganate, there were Germans and Czechs, and from the 14th century the all-powerful Habsburgs took these lands firmly into their hands.

I have of course been to Carinthia, and more than once, when I was driving to Italy and Slovenia, but always in a rush, only for a few hours, and I got to know the local cuisine better than the nature. And often that cuisine was found not in some protected beauty spot but by the roadside.

This time we decided to go to Carinthia on purpose, to see the lakes and wander in the mountains.

There is plenty to see there... It is no accident that Carinthia has so many world-class resorts.

To get acquainted with Carinthia we chose Lake Ossiach, 350 km from my home.

The road is fast, an autobahn. But whoever claims that an autobahn is a straight line is far from right. The road we drove along twists a lot, makes big angles, now climbs to the very crests of the mountains, now suddenly rolls down. And since you are travelling at high speed, your ears literally pop.

In some places there are speed limits of 100 km/h. But the Austrians pay little attention to this and drive as if they were taking part in Formula 1. What Russian doesn't love fast driving? I tried not to fall behind. One must represent the Motherland with dignity. And on the autobahns, by the way, there is a speed limit of 130 km/h. But the Austrians couldn't care less.

I think the Russian road hogs who tear along our roads would lose a good deal of their fervour if they found themselves on such mountain roads. And the roads are often very narrow.

We reached the lake. The hotel is good. As, incidentally, are all the hotels in the area. Restaurants at every step. The lake, eleven kilometres long, did not disappoint either. Then again, I have never come across an ugly lake in Austria.

I have managed to form some opinions about the Hungarians. Unhurried, fond of little restaurants, like many peoples in Europe. And generally the Hungarians love to eat. They simply adore their goulash, as a main course and as a soup! The men are mostly pot-bellied, evidently the ruinous effects of goulash and beer.

As for Balaton, it has its own specifics. Balaton is shallow, and you have to walk about two hundred metres out to swim properly. We Russians, swimming “in the deep”, were looked at like Martians. Whoever heard of swimming in Balaton! And in breaststroke, no less!

The Hungarians amuse themselves differently, too. They never swim; they simply wade fifty metres into the lake and then squat down. That, in fact, is the end of the whole bathing session. Sometimes they toss a ball to one another. There are very many children. They come in families. It is impossible to drown in a lake that is knee-deep, so the parents are only glad. If you need extreme thrills, you can ride an inflatable board, but near the shore. Curiously, the lake even has buoys, but they are placed where the water is waist-deep. The Hungarians do not go beyond the buoys. So we broke the rules at every step.

I suspect the Magyars simply can't swim at all!

I would very much like to see a swimming Hungarian. Maybe someone has seen one, but personally I haven't been lucky.

On the shore of the Adriatic Sea, not far from the city of Zadar, I saw a church built at the very beginning of the 13th century. Small, graceful, like a young lady. And it is almost 1000 years old, yet not without charm. This is the very case where you can say that age has no power over her.

I had seen such churches before, in different places around the Mediterranean, and each time I felt astonishment. Time, neglect, selfishness and vandalism should have wiped them away... and who knows what else! Yet they have survived in spite of everything.

Grandiose basilicas were built in that period too, some of which have come down to our day. The Cathedral of St Nicholas in Bari, for example. Of most of them only the foundation or a piece of wall remains. And this church had little chance of surviving. And nevertheless...

It was built, by the way, in the time of Innocent III, in my opinion one of the strongest Roman Popes in the whole history of the Holy See. He made the most influential kings, the English and the French, acknowledge the authority of the Church as higher than the secular. During his reign countless cathedrals were built, most of which have not survived. But this little church still stands to this day...

South Tyrol - how much in that word for the Russian heart has merged and intertwined... And so on. I think that's how the classic wrote it? And if not quite, it doesn't matter much. I can't recall it from memory...

And so, we are travelling to South Tyrol. That is first of all the northern mountainous part of Italy, which for a long time belonged to Austria, and so most of the population speaks German and regards German as their native tongue, which doesn't prevent them from being Italians in the fullest sense of the word.

We got to the city of Villach, on the border with Italy, splendidly: quickly, with two coffee stops. But in Villach itself there was an accident: some crazy taxi driver hurled himself at our bus like a battering ram. As a result he smashed the whole “face” of his car, wrecked the whole undercarriage and froze in the middle of the intersection with a twisted wheel. The airbags of his car worked flawlessly. The bus was only slightly shaken. Not even the thermos that I always take on the road fell off the table.

This will take a while...

The police have to come and draw up a report; we are hardly going to drive on in such a bus. Any police patrol will stop it before the entrance to the city or at the autobahn.

I stepped outside. The front of the bus is smashed. Shards of white plastic lie on the asphalt, exposing a black cast-iron frame.

Seriously... Will they really take it off the route? How can we go on with such damage?

The police arrived immediately in three cars. A crowd of firefighters arrived in powerful heavy trucks. Everyone poured out. The police instantly closed off all the intersections. A whole crowd of green vests gathered around the wrecked vehicle. They didn't deliberate long. They pulled out the necessary equipment, jacks, and set about the evacuation.

The question remains open: are we going on?

To be continued.

In the south of Austria there is a region called Carinthia. It lies in the south of Austria and borders Italy and Slovenia. I like this region and have come here more than once. There are very many lakes here, huge ones, with small towns standing on them. In general, Carinthia is mountains, lakes, rivers. It's especially nice here in summer.

Its only drawback is that Carinthia lies rather far from Vienna. For example, this time the destination (a very decent hotel) where we decided to go was about 300 km away. The journey took about three hours, and two of them I drove in the dark. Roads in Austria are poorly lit, and for the most part have no light at all. And if you add that the roads are narrow and winding and run through the mountains, it's quite a trip! Besides, Austrians like to drive at high speeds; I think this is largely national character (on mountain roads they like to let loose, although in everyday life they are very friendly).

What matters is that almost all hotels have thermal baths and saunas. After a long drive they help you relax.

And what is Katschberg? It is a high-mountain pass in the Central Eastern Alps, between Rennweg am Katschberg in the state of Carinthia and the town of St. Michael im Lungau in Salzburg.

We reached Katschberg. If you drive from Vienna, it's about four hours. And at quite a good speed. True, by the time we got there it had become completely dark, and since the Austrians don't like to light their roads and there is impenetrable darkness all around, for the last fifty kilometres or so through difficult high mountains we had to drive almost by feel. Nobody uses high beams on such a difficult road.

On the way back I observed, not without surprise, drops of hundreds of metres to the right and to the left of the road.

The place is quite popular. I have never seen so many ultramodern lifts anywhere. And there are, as it turned out, as many as 17 of them!

It is very convenient to get to this place from Munich. A fast, good, straight road. That's why there are so many Germans there.

We came for the snow (after all, the altitude is almost 2000 metres). For New Year. We reached the place where we hoped to plunge into the holiday in carts drawn by a pair of horses. And then it's a road over the pass of about four kilometres.

Along the whole of this route there are little huts where you can eat, drink tea or have mulled wine. Have a bite to eat, mostly pieces of roast meat (wild boar, venison) with potatoes; see some performances on religious themes, listen to music.

We came with a dog, and almost everyone literally asked our permission to treat her to some meat. They had never seen a husky like that. Of course not, she is a Siberian husky after all!