All went fine, we changed at the correct station and decided not to get off at the first reasonable opportunity but go to the closer station. Trouble was that the closer station is for S-Bahn trains and we were on a mainline train. Ho hum, a three or four km walk back - no big deal. After about a kilometre and a half we saw the levee and went down the path marked private, over the levee, on to the path by the river and we were relieved that the first kilometre signpost said 1937, yes only two km. to go. A guy out walking his dogs asked if we knew where we were - yes, no problem. We got back to the little inlet where we had dumped Mrs Dobbin, only to discover that it was not quite so little. We turned 180 degrees and started walking back about twenty metres south-west of the path we had just walked. We overtook the kindly dog walker and he was rather amused by our explanation, as were the fishermen on the opposite side of the creek when we passed them half an hour later. Bart recognised the sound of the dog that had barked at him earlier before we realised that we had got back to the private path. We actually started paddling at 10.30. It would have been quicker (and cheaper, of course) if we had just walked from our hotel.
Going through Vienna was surprisingly easy - practically no traffic and when we passed the next sluice there was current - lots of it. We timed one kilometre at 4 minutes 15 seconds - our fastest - at least when I have not been too panic-striken not to take notice of such things. Shows what we can do if Bart paddles rather than waves his paddle at the water. Bart's response to that was that it is not worth paddling hard because we are always going in a random direction anyway.
We did get forced to jump out on the bank a couple of times in the afternoon because there was so much traffic at one point when the river was down to 70 metres wide but, essentially, another beautiful day, not at work, with no real backache or arseache. Bart has not been whingeing about his various ailments and has been doing his arselifting and sticking his legs over the front routine very infrequently. Yes, we are now fit enough, stong enough and confident enough to actually canoe the Danube. We are stopping after two more days.
This is our last night in Austria so, in theory, I will be allowed to do some talking from now on - ooh, that's so exciting.
A relataively quiet little paddle into Bratislava apart being assalted by falling conkers in the village that we stopped for coffee when the wind got up a bit too much for comfort, with one exception. We had good current most of the way and this takes out the worst of the effect of the FCSs going upstream. Normally the barges are a lot easier, but one coming down on our side was going fast, with the current, and threw up some nasty waves; we just made it round to face almost upstream to meet the waves head on or we would prbably have been over. However, the waves were steep so we smashed through them rather going over them. Using the term "smashed" with such a venerable lady as Mrs Dobbin is a bit of misnomer but we decided to pull ashore to bail her out after the smashing - about thirty litres.
There was one slight compensation for this discomfort. Our wildlife spotting has been distinctly dodgy recently but we did spot a couple on the shingle beach doing what young couples do (although you must be pretty keen to partake of carnal delights on shingle) who heard not us approaching but two guys in canoes coming upstream talking loudly so coitus was definitely interruptus as she legged it up the shingle to hide in the wood. He remained, quite proudly sunning his pasty buttocks.
Bratislava is wonderful. The beer is good (Bart is only one pint behind me) and half the price of Austria, we have found seedy bar street and will defintely be back as soon as we have dumped Doris - well probably later tonight after we have eaten and then again after we have dumped Mrs Dobbin - actually we may manage a short visit in the morning to cure Bart's certain hangover because we only have 20 km to the dumping ground in Hungary.
There may be one slight problem. There was no campsite anywhere around the supposed spot where the canoe clubs are. These canoe clubs are very run down so I have put the tent up near them. I just hope that it does not blow too much tonight, the tent pegs seem to be mainly plugged into layers of grass.
The restaurant. Cold appertisers included "Drowned man" with bread, bread with lard and onion and Garlic Major Zeman spread on bread. Hot appetizers included Reeve's scrambled eggs. How could we resist? Bart went for Fried cheese - which he didn't get - he got macaroni cheese with bacon - he should have ordered off the "Vegetarain with slightly fleshy dishes" section. I skipped both Trout gardener, Shopska salad and "Ms Zemanovca strings" before electing for Pangasius on butter. By the way, I am quoting from the English menu. Please don't misunderstand me, as is China, I thoroughly appreciate the effort that has been put in to make life easier for useless gits liks me, but the dodgy translations are funny - I will never forget "No climping" for instance.
Well the deed is done. We got up late - the tent was dry when I packed it for the first time on the whole trip - and went to buy provisions, including liquids, for a full twenty-four hours as there would be no towns or villages. It is only 18km to the Hungary border with a sluice and a boatslide. My heart just wasn't in it and the only reason for going is me to claim another country (Bart has most Central and Eastern European countries) so after 15km I suggested that we stop and Bart was, as ever, agreeable. We quickly found a suitable spot and celebrated - Bart with a beer, me with a bottle of wine and the remains of the emergency brandy - we were busy trying to get the weight down. I don't think that I will see Doris again but Bart will.
He is soon going off on a long trip to South America and thinks he will return bigger, stronger and heavier than me as I become a weedy old man so he can sit in the back and steer in future. I think he will come back with some big fat Colombian slapper as his wife and she will have to sit in the back. I will walk. We left paddles, life jackets, Bart's birthday umbrella, my hat (thanks Norman) and Lynda la Plante for the introduction of the Bart's big fat Colombian slapper wife to English literature.
We had seen cyclists just near the dumping ground so assumed there would be a road. There wasn't - there was a paved cycle path full of roller-bladers. It was a lovely evening and we stopped for a refreshing drink at the conveniently located bar. Actually we stopped to admire this stunning roller blader. Gents (sorry Ladies) many many of the Slovakian women are gorgeous. As I write Bart is, allegedly, out scouting for bars and restaurants, actually he is out looking at the women.
When we stopped to camp, we regretted leaving Lynda. We had dumped Dawn ages ago so we did't have any books that we both had read. I had read the Robert Service biograohy of Lenin and Bart has read the first couple of hundred pages so they had to be sacrificed to get the fire started. (BTW we both think that the book is excellent to the extent of being almost compulsive reading.) This was the first time to have a fire and provided some entertainment. I hadn't found enough dead wood in the nearby thick wood before dark so Bart was amused when a couple of times I disappeared into complete blackness to fight a tree or two to get some branches. Not so amused as to stay up - he was in his sleeping bag by 9, having been up for ten hours. How can a twenty-nine year old sleep so much?
We had expected to hitch or get a bus into town but ended up walking along the cycle track that is for the use of cyclists, roller bladers, joggers and people carrying barrels and bin bags. However, we did decide how best to complete the length of the Danube. Clearly we will have to walk the 80 kms we missed at the beginning and roller-blade the remaining 1,950 kms to the end. The only real problem is that we would need to get harnesses like they use with huskies to pull sledges and a shopping trolley for the big fat slapper Colombian wife. I do suspect that there will be some difference in standard, Bart used to roller-blade as a kid, I have tried it once and would probably be like one generously-proportioned lady we saw who was not displaying a great deal of enthusiasm for the activity and could more accurately be described as roller-slumping.
We had the last night in a cheap hotel where a notice says "Do not throw at toilet ladies pads, handkercheives and swaddling- clothes!!! Thanks". Rather shockingly,we had only the second decent length conversation with Jonny Foreigner on the whole trip - a navigation student from the Polish border who thinks Bratislava is ugly and expensive! Mind you, Bart is out for a haircut so anything could happen then.
We have paddled 737 kms in 34 days of which eight were rest days, forced or voluntary, gone through 32 locks, not turned Doris over, not needed any licences, insurance or training and not met the police (just the German army). So much for the doubters.
We have camped more than two-thirds of the nights including "wild camping" (i.e. not paying) pretty much every night in the last ten days when we didn't get a bed, averaged a shower between us every two and a half days, eaten more crap processed cheese than you can imagine (having the benefit of Bart in charge of food is a double-edged sword), drunk at least ten bottles of wine that cost less than two euros and will come back with less possessions than we left with.
I now have all of Bart's photos so, for those at death's door, I will add some more photos to the previous blogs when we get back to England.
Three words of thanks. Guido - the tent is still truly excellent. Hattie (from Bart) - the plastic earplugs are great. Raimond - for Doris.
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