When I was a little kid, my granny told stories about Europe; it was a place you came from, not where to head on vacation. Today, that’s history. It’s as simple as visiting Brainerd but with better food and richer heritage. To make my vacation virtually stress-free, I booked a Viking River Cruise and left the driving to the captain of the 188-passenger ship Vali, our home for a leisurely two-week sail from Budapest to Amsterdam.
We anchored aside the Hungarian city’s iconic Chain Bridge, just steps from its bustling, 19th-century covered market (stock up on necessities like goose-liver pate, sweet or spicy paprika and roosters’ testicles). Fortunately, Chef Milos chose instead to prepare Hungarian goulash, chicken paprikash and poppyseed dumplings — the star of this evening’s menu, where nightly choices always include Norwegian salmon, juicy steaks, and classic local favorites. Wine and beer flow freely at no extra charge with meals, and the staff soon learns your name. Our waiter, Jayson, who multi-tasks as an aspiring comedian, assures me that the breakfast’s orange juice is fresh-squeezed: “I squeezed the carton myself.” (Never mind: The after-dinner entertainment in the lounge features a variety of fine musicians.)
A city tour of each port is included at no extra charge. In Budapest, we careened past the famous wedding-cake façade of Parliament on to churches like St. Stephen’s, whose saintly arm you can view in its golden casket, on to St. Michael’s, boasting the city’s oldest organ (frequent concerts) and the Jewish ghetto’s grand synagogue of 1859, largest in all Europe. We spy the frilly Opera House en route to Heroes’ Square with its larger-than-life shades of Soviet occupation.
By morning’s light, we set sail down the mighty Danube. Eggs Benedict for breakfast girds me for a day on the open-air sun deck as we glide by pleasure boats and husky barges, deep forests and classic villages posing for a picture postcard. We give a wave to Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, grab a nap, or trot laps along the deck’s running track (golf putting and shuffleboard, too). At dinner (open seating at tables for six) we chat with newfound friends from Australia, Canada, Texas, Florida and beyond while savoring Weiner schnitzel and Sacher torte in homage to Vienna, our next port of call.
The Good Life is celebrated in this gorgeous city, with its generosity of opulent Baroque curlicues, plaster adornments frosting palaces and concert halls honoring homeboys Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn, to name but a few. We end our walking tour at St. Stephen’s Square, anchored by its breathtaking cathedral, and then, in our free time, choose to turn our steps in a more somber direction to visit the Holocaust memorial, inscribed with the names of death camps.
A pal and I queue up for a table at buzzy Café Central, where, ever since 1876, waiters in formal wear have delivered schnitzel, beer and fancy coffee drinks to customers perusing newspapers attached to long sticks. What to do on our free afternoon? The famed Lipizzaner riding school? The Opera House? We vote for the golden-domed Secessionist Museum to squint at its cache of once-risqué paintings by outcasts such as Gustave Klimt, then on to the Leopold Museum, home to equally daring artists.
Tomorrow, we sail into Melk to ogle its famous Abbey, founded in 1089, and its petite chapel. Scurrying back to the sun deck, we’re set to enjoy the most scenic stretch of the swirling Danube, where one medieval fortress-castle after another anchors a hilltop. Oh, look! That’s the one where Richard the Lion-Hearted was locked up! And here comes the Abbey itself, an ultra-ornate treasure house of gold, gold, and more gold.
The Romans beat us to tiny Passau, our next stop along the river. Today it’s a haven of artists’ galleries lining winding cobblestone alleys, all leading to yet another St. Stephen’s Cathedral (three so far, and counting) and the scary house of the town executioner (now a comedy club; go figure).
Back aboard, the ship’s Austrian flag is replaced by the gold, red and black bars of Germany’s banner as we head to Regensburg. Too “unimportant” to suffer World War II’s bombing raids, its 1,200 UNESCO-protected buildings still stand to greet us. One of these belonged to Otto Schindler of “List” fame. The town’s synagogue was destroyed, but its outline lives on in the form of memorial benches. Under a stone bridge from 1735, we happen upon a busy sausage stand, where we chomp our first mustard-gilded bratwurst. Just beyond, the magnificent stained-glass windows of St. Peter’s Cathedral (1273) illuminate our spirits.
The first few locks through which we sailed brought everyone on deck to witness our watery descent. By now, we barely notice — turning our eyes, instead toward Wertheim, where take-no-prisoners guide Ursula marches us through the oft-flooded town. (Was it the doing of witches? In Wertheim, she instructs, most of those thus convicted were, ahem, men. And: “What do you call a beautiful woman in Wertheim?” she asks. “A tourist.”)
Door frames dated 1523 lead us to Market Square’s half-timbered houses, where gossip was whispered from window to window. In the remains of its synagogue, Ursula reveals the town’s Jewish history, laced with pogroms. “I knew nothing about it while growing up,” she recalls. “Back then, nobody talked about it.”
Nuremberg’s wartime past is stained as well. Our bus tour takes us past the former SS troops’ quarters plus the vast stadium where Hitler spewed his tirades. On an extra tour (purchase required), we explored the underground bunkers where the Nazis’ stolen artworks were sequestered — tunnels that also served as bomb shelters during air raids. Then we re-emerge into the sunlight of the town’s camera-ready Market Square and a chance to purchase some of its famous gingerbread.
Aboard ship again, we trundle into the dining room, where this evening the menu salutes traditional German fare, from sauerbraten and dumplings to sauerkraut and sausages galore, while our servers — tonight costumed in dirndls and lederhosen — kept the beer steins full. Later, klezmer music filled the lounge.
Bamberg’s pretty half-timbered houses await us in the morning. We march past the cheeky mural on the medieval town hall, then climb to the iconic cathedral, housing a life-size statue of a rider on his horse. (Why, you ask, a horse in a church? So did we. But nobody knows. Maybe he chased down the town’s witches, for over 900 were burned at the stake.) The sweet city boasts 13 breweries, producing the (in)famous Rauch (smoked) beer, an acquired taste not all of us acquired.
By morning I’m back on the sundeck, running laps to pay for last night’s excesses. Würzburg appears on the horizon, richly rebuilt after its near-total destruction during World War II. Today the palace of the Bishop stands in all its 346-room glory — the size of Versailles, almost; this one is one room bigger. It invites us to ooh and aah at all that glitters (yes, it’s truly gold). Italian artist Tintoretto painted a vast ceiling mural depicting the four known continents, depicting North America as a land of cannibals and hot chocolate (not sure his info was correct.)
Back aboard, the teasing lunchtime menu features spaghetti carbonara, Cobb salad and cheeseburgers. Just say yes. Then loll on the sundeck as the vineyard-cloaked hills glide by. The captain invites us to visit the wheelhouse, where I inquire, “What’s the most challenging part of the river?” His answer: “This one.”
A stop at Koblenz provides a shopping op for those whose credit cards are withering for insufficient exercise, plus a chance to stroll amid the locals as they pass the day in pretty Jesuitenplatz lapping ice creams. Then it’s on to Cologne, whose famous twin-spired cathedral soon appears on the horizon. Founded 2,000 years ago by the Romans, it’s the oldest city in Germany, boasting 60 churches, the home of the famed 5711 Cologne brand of toilet water, and that lacy, Gothic cathedral, which houses (it’s said) the heads of the Bible’s three wise men in a golden coffin. The city also houses a remarkable collection of 20th-century art in its noted Ludwig Museum. Gawk at works of Picasso (room after room), Nolde, Klee, Mondrian, Dali, Matisse, Rothko, Rauschenberg, Warhol and more-more-more.
During the night, those wonders recede into the distance as we approach our final lap of the cruise: the Dutch town of Kinderdijk with its celebration of the land’s most famous symbol, windmills. Nineteen of them line up along the dike for their photo op, pumping its water. One, open to tour, formerly housed 13 children.
Time, now, for the captain’s farewell dinner. We bid goodbye to the many friends we’ve made — passengers and crew alike — and vow to meet again on another Viking cruise. To do so yourself, consult Viking River Cruises and start packing.
Related News :