It's been a massively long time since I've been close enough to internet or well-endowed enough with time to keep the world up to date on my adventures, so this is going to have to be a little concise. After the Meade's left, I was left with 4 days to spend in Munich before my meeting with the American Consulate. That 4 day period was one of the best in the trip for me: World renowned Jazz Clubs, Museums, Slacklining, Skateboarding, Gelato, Swimming around, Botanical Gardens, and finding a used English Bookstore were some of my highlights.
Anyway, on to the greater narrative: The lost passport problem. When I finally met with the consulate, I was 30 minutes early. The guards stared intently to make sure I was up to no funny business, and I stared back. I don't know if they knew it was a staring contest, but I'm sure I won. Anyway, after entering the foreboding gates, passing through the metal detectors, and ultimately entering some of the heaviest doors I've ever had the displeasure of opening, I was inside the Consulate. A tiny room, some chairs that looked like a train station waiting area, and an electronic sign that read off case numbers: That was what I waited a week to get into. After giving the woman at the consulate my forms and some photo ID (Driver's License) and explaining my case, I was informed of the (groan) 135 euro passport replacement cost, which I readily paid simply to be out of that stuffy building (it had been fantastically hot all week in Munich). After an hour or two of waiting for my number to be called again, I finally heard a sign that someone, somewhere, had been doing something: "BENJAMIN CAHPUL, to window 5 please!"
Far on the western corner of the room, sequestered away as though forgotten, was window five. The man who sat on the other side looked stern, but had a friendly voice and asked me a few questions as to where I lost my passport (and the like). Laughing, he then proceeded to inform me that I would not be getting a new passport at all: They had found my old one, just a day or two before, in the post room at the Copenhagen Consulate. Shocked and pleased to be receiving a refund (and of course in not having to deal with receiving a new Spanish Visa), we made a deal: They would send the passport to Vienna and I would ride to meet it there (They had wanted me to stay in Munich another week but I happily declined). The next morning I woke up early as can be and got on a train to Salzburg, intent on making it to the town of Koppl before I set out to meet my passport. When I arrived in Salzburg I rode my bike to a campground, set up, took a nap, and ultimately wandered right into the middle of their biggest summer music festival FUNKYTOWN. For better or for worse, I will forever associate the birthplace of Mozart with the music of the Blues Brothers and Elvis.
I have wanted to go to the town of Koppl since I figured out it existed when I was 12 or 13. I have no idea why, but it has always seemed like a fantastic way to get in touch with my roots or some other sentimental nonsense, and so I found myself riding, quite early, into the heart of the alps below the scorching heat of the sun the next day. As I rode, I fantasiced, as I often do while riding, about what the town would be like, and for a moment allowed myself to pretend that my return would be some big deal to the local people: The Prodigal Son, returning TRIUMPHANT. They would have a parade and would crown me king for the day. At very least, I hoped, they would play some celebratory music for my arrival: Riding in the mountains makes one feel as though every hilltop should be acompanied by a brass band playing victory songs. (continued below)
As I began to draw closer to the town (suddenly taking pictures of every sign in the area; I'm sure passerby thought I was a bit off), I suddenly became a little suspicious that I was dehydrated. Was that music coming from up ahead?
As I rose up over the last stretch of road into the town of Koppl, I was quite sure I was hallucinating, as my dream had seemingly come to life. A marching band full of men in Lederhosen was parading down the main street of the small mountain town, bearing banners and firing off traditional Austrian firearms while they sang bold, victorious music. Immensely pleased, I biked past their procession to a small bench and sat watching as the town played out the most stereotypical of bavarian scenes. For just a moment, I pretended I was a lost prince returning to my kingdom. Sweet victory.
As they entered a back alleyway, I followed the procession into a little alleyway, which opened up into a courtyard full of tables where lunch was to be had. The band, still playing, made their way to the stage, and i sat down in the far back corner. Coversation was had with the locals. Several people bought me beer (probably better than being crowned king on a hot day in the alps). I was in heaven.
After an hour or two in my namesake, I deemed it fit to head onward. Riding through the Julie-Andrews landscapes that surrounded the area, I made my way to a small lake for a swim. Just another day in paradise. When I got back to Salzburg, I was elated, and so spent some time riding around town. Salzburg has a lot of horses, both in statue form and real life. This is unrelated but true, and should give you some idea of what sort of imagery I was enjoying as I rode. The sun set over the castle on the hill before I headed back to my campsite, and so under cover of night I began riding down the path that led to my warm sleeping bag. Suddenly, as if to make up for the dreamy quality my day had had before this, I felt my back wheel get swept out from below me. Using all of my Seattle fixed gear "don't die in traffic" reflexes I managed not to fall as I looked back to see a drunk Salzburger frantically apologizing in german when I realized he'd managed to run straight into my rear wheel (there was no cross-traffic here; I still have no idea how he pulled it off), which was now harrowingly out of true (read: bent)
I went home and watched Spain win the Euros...at least some things work out in the end!
The next morning I went to the bike shop, which confirmed that I needed to replace my wheel. Fortunately, one of the mechanics there had been trying to sell a rather nice wheel off his old touring bike and gave me a rather fantastic wheel (ironically exactly the wheel I'd been trying to buy before leaving Seattle when I settled for a cheaper option) for a rather fantastic price, and so I rode out of town feeling a little better (and a little lighter in my wallet, as well).
I'm not going to try to narrate the 4 days that followed in their entirety: the details are ones which are unlikely to be particularly interesting when compared with the pictures anyway. I rode on bike paths away from car roads from Salzburg to Vienna at a rapid pace, making over 100 miles a day with time left over to swim in the blue (actually grey green) Danube, visit museums, castles, and churches. Notably, a lot of this was made in side journeys to castles and churches along the side of the main route, which was somewhat shorter)...Some of my favorite riding of the trip to be sure, and plenty of places off the side to set up my tent for free, plenty of fruit to be plucked from trees and vines for snacks along the road, and some of the nicest people I've met on my trip. A scottish touring-couple comes to mind, both in their late sixties, who sat next to me as we ate ice cream in the broiling sun. They gave me some good advice for the future, and had toured everywhere in europe since their youth.
Anyway, that's my update for now. Vienna is beautiful but sprawling (anywhere cities are built on flat earth they seem to spread outward indefinitely). I camped on an island in the middle of the river in the middle of the city last night, feeling a bit huck finn as I found a quiet spot in the bushes to set down in while watching the barges go by in the night. It was so warm I was able to take the rain protection off my tent and sleep under only mesh, trees, stars, and city lights. Beautiful. Anyway, to bring the whole thing full circle, I'm about to head over to the American Embassy in Vienna to retrieve my passport. Wish me luck guys!
Anyway, on to the greater narrative: The lost passport problem. When I finally met with the consulate, I was 30 minutes early. The guards stared intently to make sure I was up to no funny business, and I stared back. I don't know if they knew it was a staring contest, but I'm sure I won. Anyway, after entering the foreboding gates, passing through the metal detectors, and ultimately entering some of the heaviest doors I've ever had the displeasure of opening, I was inside the Consulate. A tiny room, some chairs that looked like a train station waiting area, and an electronic sign that read off case numbers: That was what I waited a week to get into. After giving the woman at the consulate my forms and some photo ID (Driver's License) and explaining my case, I was informed of the (groan) 135 euro passport replacement cost, which I readily paid simply to be out of that stuffy building (it had been fantastically hot all week in Munich). After an hour or two of waiting for my number to be called again, I finally heard a sign that someone, somewhere, had been doing something: "BENJAMIN CAHPUL, to window 5 please!"
Far on the western corner of the room, sequestered away as though forgotten, was window five. The man who sat on the other side looked stern, but had a friendly voice and asked me a few questions as to where I lost my passport (and the like). Laughing, he then proceeded to inform me that I would not be getting a new passport at all: They had found my old one, just a day or two before, in the post room at the Copenhagen Consulate. Shocked and pleased to be receiving a refund (and of course in not having to deal with receiving a new Spanish Visa), we made a deal: They would send the passport to Vienna and I would ride to meet it there (They had wanted me to stay in Munich another week but I happily declined). The next morning I woke up early as can be and got on a train to Salzburg, intent on making it to the town of Koppl before I set out to meet my passport. When I arrived in Salzburg I rode my bike to a campground, set up, took a nap, and ultimately wandered right into the middle of their biggest summer music festival FUNKYTOWN. For better or for worse, I will forever associate the birthplace of Mozart with the music of the Blues Brothers and Elvis.
I have wanted to go to the town of Koppl since I figured out it existed when I was 12 or 13. I have no idea why, but it has always seemed like a fantastic way to get in touch with my roots or some other sentimental nonsense, and so I found myself riding, quite early, into the heart of the alps below the scorching heat of the sun the next day. As I rode, I fantasiced, as I often do while riding, about what the town would be like, and for a moment allowed myself to pretend that my return would be some big deal to the local people: The Prodigal Son, returning TRIUMPHANT. They would have a parade and would crown me king for the day. At very least, I hoped, they would play some celebratory music for my arrival: Riding in the mountains makes one feel as though every hilltop should be acompanied by a brass band playing victory songs. (continued below)
As I rose up over the last stretch of road into the town of Koppl, I was quite sure I was hallucinating, as my dream had seemingly come to life. A marching band full of men in Lederhosen was parading down the main street of the small mountain town, bearing banners and firing off traditional Austrian firearms while they sang bold, victorious music. Immensely pleased, I biked past their procession to a small bench and sat watching as the town played out the most stereotypical of bavarian scenes. For just a moment, I pretended I was a lost prince returning to my kingdom. Sweet victory.
As they entered a back alleyway, I followed the procession into a little alleyway, which opened up into a courtyard full of tables where lunch was to be had. The band, still playing, made their way to the stage, and i sat down in the far back corner. Coversation was had with the locals. Several people bought me beer (probably better than being crowned king on a hot day in the alps). I was in heaven.
After an hour or two in my namesake, I deemed it fit to head onward. Riding through the Julie-Andrews landscapes that surrounded the area, I made my way to a small lake for a swim. Just another day in paradise. When I got back to Salzburg, I was elated, and so spent some time riding around town. Salzburg has a lot of horses, both in statue form and real life. This is unrelated but true, and should give you some idea of what sort of imagery I was enjoying as I rode. The sun set over the castle on the hill before I headed back to my campsite, and so under cover of night I began riding down the path that led to my warm sleeping bag. Suddenly, as if to make up for the dreamy quality my day had had before this, I felt my back wheel get swept out from below me. Using all of my Seattle fixed gear "don't die in traffic" reflexes I managed not to fall as I looked back to see a drunk Salzburger frantically apologizing in german when I realized he'd managed to run straight into my rear wheel (there was no cross-traffic here; I still have no idea how he pulled it off), which was now harrowingly out of true (read: bent)
I went home and watched Spain win the Euros...at least some things work out in the end!
The next morning I went to the bike shop, which confirmed that I needed to replace my wheel. Fortunately, one of the mechanics there had been trying to sell a rather nice wheel off his old touring bike and gave me a rather fantastic wheel (ironically exactly the wheel I'd been trying to buy before leaving Seattle when I settled for a cheaper option) for a rather fantastic price, and so I rode out of town feeling a little better (and a little lighter in my wallet, as well).
I'm not going to try to narrate the 4 days that followed in their entirety: the details are ones which are unlikely to be particularly interesting when compared with the pictures anyway. I rode on bike paths away from car roads from Salzburg to Vienna at a rapid pace, making over 100 miles a day with time left over to swim in the blue (actually grey green) Danube, visit museums, castles, and churches. Notably, a lot of this was made in side journeys to castles and churches along the side of the main route, which was somewhat shorter)...Some of my favorite riding of the trip to be sure, and plenty of places off the side to set up my tent for free, plenty of fruit to be plucked from trees and vines for snacks along the road, and some of the nicest people I've met on my trip. A scottish touring-couple comes to mind, both in their late sixties, who sat next to me as we ate ice cream in the broiling sun. They gave me some good advice for the future, and had toured everywhere in europe since their youth.
Anyway, that's my update for now. Vienna is beautiful but sprawling (anywhere cities are built on flat earth they seem to spread outward indefinitely). I camped on an island in the middle of the river in the middle of the city last night, feeling a bit huck finn as I found a quiet spot in the bushes to set down in while watching the barges go by in the night. It was so warm I was able to take the rain protection off my tent and sleep under only mesh, trees, stars, and city lights. Beautiful. Anyway, to bring the whole thing full circle, I'm about to head over to the American Embassy in Vienna to retrieve my passport. Wish me luck guys!
I love reading about your adventures. What a wonderful bike journey.... and I look forward to hearing all about the Vienna Embassy!-N
ReplyDeleteYes to life and yes to magic!
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