On our side trip to an olden town in the hill country, I climbed down into a wooded gorge lush with oaks, bird cherries, and flowering vines. Just outside the gorge, heavy equipment clattered and roared, but the gorge was blissfully quiet–nothing but bird song and buzzing flies. Clearly I’m seriously nature-deprived when even fly-buzz soothes my soul.
The village is called Holloko, which means Raven Stone. Other than a requisite castle ruin on the hill the building are all modest homes. We were welcomed with cheesecake that looked more like strudel with cottage cheese on top. Then a group of dancers in traditional costumes chanted to accompany time worn footwork.
The home-hosted lunch included do-it-yourself soup served as a bowl of broth, a bowl of noodles, and a plate of chicken, potatoes, and carrots. Mine came out very tasty. The main course was chicken paprika and spätzle with a bowl of pickles—no salad or veggie. On another excursion I noticed a man eating a brown-bag lunch in the park. His sandwich was supplemented with a jar of pickles that would have lasted Steve and me for months. If you’re thinking of substituting pickles for vegetables, check out the picture of the dancing-girls. Only one of them is a day over 18…kidding.
Dessert was fruit strudel, but the bountiful bowl of fresh, sweet raspberries I got in its place had other guests volunteering to go gluten free with me.