For this last portion of the cruise, I was up before dawn hoping to spend more time with the river on its twisting trajectory.  The sunrise through the moving shoreline trees reflected on the surface of the water flowing in the opposite direction.

Around one turn a grandiose architectural monument modeled on the Parthenon in Athens came into view. It’s called “Walhalla,” the incongruous Wagnerian name of the Hall of the Germanic Gods. The edifice was conceived by King Ludwig I of Bavaria in 1807 and constructed between1830 and 1842 as a Hall of Fame filled with busts of “laudable politicians, sovereigns, scientists and artists of the German tongue“–part of the effort to create a unified nationalist identity.

Soon we glided into Regensburg and docked within view of its Old Stone Bridge, built by the City in 1200 to facilitate  trade between Europe and the Orient and repeatedly destroyed and reconstructed. Since its graceful arches were too small to allow for the modern commercial vessels plying the river, a parallel bypass canal now accommodates them and the crossing is reserved for pedestrians and bikes.

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The overnight cruise upriver was supposed to let us off for a day in the antique German city of Krems, but an unexplained circumstance substituted the Abbey of Melk.  Remembering the narrator of The Name of the Rose as Aldo of Melk, the switch seemed promising. However much of the visit was spent waiting in a stationary bus and standing in line. Rather than a medieval monastery with a real scriptorium, Melk had been rebuilt in ornate Baroque style during the 18th century and has recently been turned into a crude theme-park like museum financed by its sale of an original Gutenberg Bible to Harvard University.

Back on the boat we entered the Wachau Valley, famed for its mountainous banks, ancient castle ruins and vineyards which produce the Gruener Veltliner wines we enjoyed on board and in Salzburg and Munich.

Beyond the valley we docked at Passau, also known as “Dreiflussstadt,” a city with rich heritage and  a unique  position at the confluence of three navigable rivers, the Danube, the Inn, and the Ilz

I took an early morning walk to a park at one of the confluence points, where I felt the power of the merging flows that periodically flood the city up to 20 feet above the street.  I could sense the age-old strategic and commercial value of the location.

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We were allowed a full day on our own until 11:00 p.m. when the boat was to depart. Jan and I rode the metro to the Karlsplatz station to reach a long planned destination–the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Along with the Alte Pinakotek in Munich, we hoped to add this visit to past peak experiences at the Metropolitan Museum in New York, the National Gallery in London, the Prado in Madrid, and the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.

The edifice displays symmetry and variation like that of the Opera House, but here the whole structure is reflected by the identical Natural History museum building across the wide  plaza surrounding an enthroned statue of the Empress Maria Teresa.  She ruled the Austro Hungarian Empire from 1740 to 1780 as an “Enlightened Despot” and achieved great military, diplomatic, and economic  success.

Arriving before the 10:00 A.M. opening time, we faded into an organized tour group to enter the building early. The security chief  noted that we had the wrong pass but Jan’s cane persuaded him to  allow to us sit in the resplendent atrium until the general public was admitted.

Our  first stop was the gallery housing paintings by Peter Breughel the Elder (1525-1569. We had both studied most of them in college, and I had a large print of The Tower of  Babel on the wall over the desk in my bedroom all through high school.

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By breakfast time, the boat had docked at a long quai in Vienna which included several Viking River Cruise ships and  others with Swiss, Italian and French companies.  The Danube doesnt run through the city center, so in late morning we  were bussed downtown, divided into groups by differing mobility capacity.  Jan and I were led through the crowded streets listening to a guide’s halting comments through a radio earphone.

As our procession arrived at St. Stephen’s Cathedral the morning’s rainshowers were giving way to a brilliant sky illuminating lacy patterns  of light and shadow on the stone.

Inside the dark interior, Jan discovered a  tucked-away portrait of the structure’s 1513 architect she identified by his square and compasses, Anton Pilgram.

The cathedral plaza extended pedestrian walkways in several directions surrounded by elegant 19th century buildings.

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Guided by uniformed employees of Viking Tours through the transfers at Heathrow in London and at Budapest we arrived at the Viking Gullveig in time for late afternoon lunch buffet, nap and dinner.

Entering the dining room we noticed four jolly looking folks sitting together, one sporting a bald head and an impressive lumberjack beard, and sat down at their table. Ice was broken with the discovery that they were Canadians–residents of the Maritime province of New Brunswick but familiar with our second hometown in British Columbia.  They all were or had been involved in secondary education, one about to celebrate retirement, his wife still teaching, another a high school principal, and her husband, a former teacher who became a nuclear power plant operator and spent time at Diablo Canyon in San Luis Obispo.  We shared many onboard meals with these people and a couple more who joined the table.

The boat itself was sleek, elegant and comfortable, graced with well appointed lounges, restaurants and outdoor deck space in high style Scandinavian taste,

decorated with visually arresting, and aesthetically pleasing prints and paintings,

The most notable was the wall size painting at the top of the main stairway portraying the ship’s namesake, Gullveig, a goddess associated with the love of gold, with magic and sorcery, and with the ability to return to life after being burned to death three times. This figure in Norse mythology seemed appropriate to the Viking company and to the city of Passau we visited, home of a German literary version of those stories, The Nibelungenlied.

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A year ago we had to cancel “Romantic Danube,” the Viking Tour Company’s River Cruise because we came down with Covid a month before departure.  With the travel insurance money, we went on our own to England, Holland, France and Germany, our journey chronicled here.

That experience motivated us to try again to squeeze a trip into the two-week interval between Jan’s City Council meetings.  An injury to her “good” knee  during a December workout at Gymnazo required her to walk with a cane, which made the prospect of a cruise especially appealing.  But we agreed to spend a week following the river trip on our own in Salzburg and Munich.  Before departure we reserved lodging and concert tickets and read in books about the river and its cities, including Carl Shorske’s Fin de Siecle Vienna, Politics and Culture, Stefan Zweig’s The World of Yesterday, The Danube, A Cultural History, by Andrew Beattie, Mozart, A Life by Paul Johnson.  And we watched films set in central Europe, including The Third Man and Museum Hours

The weeks before departure concluded several open-ended involvements: the sale of Knoll House–our Canadian property since 1995–to Tai and Theo, our ten year tenants and lifelong friends,  our grandson Ian’s passing his qualifying exams as Airline Technician, our grandson Lucas’ acceptance in the five-month  Grizzly Academy boot camp, our daughter Claire’s promotion to full-time employee at the Cal Poly Food Service, Jan’s organization of. her campaign committee after a long-pondered decision to run for re-election, and completion of my Prefumo Creek Restoration and Enhancement Project.

Our intention this morning was to stray from the cliche tourism of the Bateau Mouche and ride a City bus at the quai to the end of the line and back as we’d done in London.  We walked a new way toward the river and came upon a tiny corner sculpture park centered on a travertine marble box behind which a large red circle was painted on the blank wall of a building.

A sign indicated that the box was used as a base for temporary art installations, this one entitled “Pandora’s Box.” A young woman walked up to the pedestal and pressed  a button causing the plastic assemblage to revolve and look like a discharge of steam. (more…)

We traveled to the eastern edge of the Marais to attend “Eternal Mucha,” a show about the life and work of the early 20th designer whose posters are familiar icons of Art Nouveau.  A cycling 40-minute slideshow was presented on a huge screen with surround-sound music intended to overwhelm the  audience reclining on couch seats in a theatre housed in the modern opera house at the Place Bastille. But after the previous night’s experience in the Sainte Chappelle its effort to create a contemporary spiritual aesthetic experience fell flat.

After a tiring walk across the huge Place de Bastille, the site of the start of the Revolution in 1789, we recharged at a cafe with shots of espresso (more…)

We began the day with the practical task of doing laundry, which, not surprisingly, turned into a memorable adventure.  Morning sunshine reflected from the recently cleaned old buildings turned routine urban activities into paintings.

Ancient architectural monuments  adorned the way to  the laundromat up the block.

Apartment buildings appeared as architectural marvels. (more…)

On a walk around the neighborhood, before our scheduled train departure for Paris, we happened upon a building fronting a large square where booths, stages and grandstands left from previous days’ Pride celebrations were being dismantled.  It  was the Royal Palace of Amsterdam, originally built as a City Hall in 1655, later converted to a Royal Palace by the conqueror Napoleon’s brother Louis Napoleon in 1806 and eventually appropriated by the Dutch Royal Family who retain control of it today.

We arrived at the grandiose Paris Gare du Nord in the early afternoon (more…)