Rambling

Snow-covered mountains in the distance embrace the movie-perfect town but heat has arrived unexpectedly and we're peeling off layers as we amble across the Salzburg pedestrian bridge. Any moment I expect to see Julie dressed in dirndl, skipping towards me. Instead, we pause to capture the scene with melting snow-infused waters flowing swiftly past us. The bridge is uniquely adorned with locks. Curious, we move closer and discover that each lock is marked with what appear to be initials. Is this some type of revered tradition among the townspeople and maybe even their many visitors? At the hotel, a well-informed staff member unravels the mystery. Romantically involved couples routinely write, or carve, their initials on a lock and then affix it to a portion of the bridge. In so doing, they are signifying their commitment to each other.



Eating Italian al fresco on a crisp May evening, we watch as a crowd magnifies in anticipation of a daily event. The historical astronomical clock in Prague's main square attracts a tourist melange. Henry swiftly retrieves his camera from a shirt pocket and joins the throng, hurrying back before his pizza has time to cool.



Afterwards, we stroll through the now mostly vacated plaza and notice a pamphlet announcing an evening concert. Fully fed, we are ready for entertainment and soon, with tickets in hand, we search unfamiliar streets for the venue. By lucky happenstance, we arrive just as the audience is filing inside the venerable building. I'm musing about the fact that it wasn't destroyed by heinous invaders more than sixty years ago. I know that the so many congregants were systematically annihilated. Recognizing the painful past of this sacred place, I am humbled. We are entering the Spanish Synagogue, so named because of the extensive tile work within the structure reminiscent of the famous Alhambra in Granada.




Dimly lit, extravagantly furnished, the synagogue thrives and survives. Toward the far end, there are five chairs for the musicians. We've come to hear selections written by American Jewish composers, including Gershwin, Bernstein and Jerome Kern. Four violins and a trumpet comprise the talented group.



Less than one hundred people sit on benches and in random chairs in the middle of the vast space. From nearby conversations, I learn that most everyone is part of a tour group. We're independent travelers, going where we will, exploring without a strict schedule. The music wraps around us and we are captured by Czech tonal interpretations of what are quintessentially American sounds. One of the encores is Ole Man River and I begin to cry as silently as possible. I'm not sure why. Maybe for those people who lost their lives so needlessly. Maybe because I'm reminded of home.

With slow-moving, long lines, there is nothing to do but wait. Well, that's not totally true. I can observe, create back stories for others in the room, think about our next destination. Henry's here to purchase train tickets. Unlike some places, there is a generous complement of staff, ready to assist potential passengers. I watch as an unfamiliar practice unfolds. Whenever a staff member reports for duty, he or she pauses next to each co-worker. If that person is busy with a customer, the arriving staff member waits patiently. When the ticket transaction is complete, the two employees shake hands and then briefly hug each other. Having concluded this ritual with all fellow employees, the newly arrived individual is ready to assist clients.

Reasons for choosing a restaurant vary widely according to budget, food preferences, location, perceived cleanliness, and available time allotted for a meal. When in an unaccustomed country whose language is a marvelous mystery, selecting a place to eat is mostly serendipity. We've ventured to Bratislava from Vienna by train. The previous evening, as Henry gathered information about the potential journey from the hotel's manager, I sat nearby on a comfortable couch. A lovely lady seated on the facing couch asks if we are considering just such an excursion. I respond that we are indeed and that I am quite unsure about the advisability of the trip. She spends the next half hour extolling the sights of Slovakia's nearby capital and urging me to visit the city. This unexpected testimony comes from a charming Costa Rican resident, on vacation with her husband. Soon we met him also and learn that they were an engineer (he) and a professional singer (she.) Delightful people who returned a few hours earlier, fresh from wandering the streets of Bratislava.

We visit the recently constructed castle, high on a hill, having climbed more stone steps than we thought possible.



Descending, we walk towards the old town center. It's Sunday, a warmish spring day, and dining outside is the universal option.




Fortunately for us, most menus thoughtfully include an English translation. Now the only question is which cafe will get our business. Utilizing a thoroughly scientific method, we select Cafe Roland. Actually, the lavender colored chair cushions attract our attention. And the wide choice of Italian specialties.



Henry declares that his Parma Ham Raviolis are the very best ever.



I'm equally effusive about my Chicken Penne dish.



We even like the bottles which contain the water we ordered.



Lunch is exceptional; the city is absolutely worth visiting.

If there is a shopping gene, it most assuredly can be found in my DNA. My dear husband enables me to manifest this characteristic with abandon. He's abundantly patient, always non-judgmental about purchases, and comments positively when I wear something I've acquired on one of our many journeys. I credit him with discovering what is surely the most delicious hot chocolate we've ever tasted. It is embarrassing to cite the location of this luscious libation. Found at a creperie, tucked away on the fourth floor of Prague's largest mall, the concoction was so thick that it had to be ingested with a spoon. At no time did it reach a runny consistency. If I had the capacity, I would have easily ordered a second one. I believe Henry would have joined me.



I'm a gelato junkie. Lucky for me, there are no gelaterias in my hometown. Our Vienna-based friend, Claudia, invited me to try hazelnut gelato. I was hooked. The chunks of nuts interrupted the smoothness of the gelato and added enormously to the trickle pleasure. Discovering a tiny gelato operation two doors away from our Salzburg hotel could have been my ruination. Instead, I politely ordered one scoop of hazelnut the first night. The young man behind the window encouraged me to try the specialty flavor. He said I'd regret not doing so. I demurred and resisted. The next night, I lost my will. Being unable to ignore the hazelnut I favored, and succumbing to the siren sesame, I choose two scoops. Let me say that he was right. Sesame is my new favorite flavor. With toasted seeds crunching through the sweet gelato, the combination is, well, sinful, I am sure. I won't even look for it if I chance upon a gelateria anytime soon.



Growing up in the South, I'm accustomed to polite language where older people are addressed as "Miss XXX" or "Mr. XXX." As a child, I said "Yes Ma'm" or "Yes Sir" consistently and never thought about it at all. As I've grown older, I've sometimes winced when people say, "Ma'm" as it seems to be more a reminder of my years rather than a mark of respect. In Europe, however, I thoroughly enjoy being addressed as "Madame." It may be a reflection of my age as well, but that word causes me to smile inside. I am impressed when a staff member at the hotel front desk refers to every co-worker as a 'colleague.' I appreciate the server at another hotel who, when asked to bring the check, responds with these words, "Excellent idea." Examples of courteous exchanges which indicate at least an outward commitment to commendable customer relations.

The dictionary offers several definitions of the word ramble. Among my favorite are these:
*to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner
*to talk or write in a discursive, aimless way

I'm a rambling kind of lady, whether talking, writing, or wandering. I strongly recommend trying it.