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 […]