One always knows it’s a Wednesday on this Danube island when the already plentiful bicycles lining the streets multiply into a calvacade and the pungent aroma of Leberkaese and Sauerkraut begin to permeate the air.
The once-a-week farmer’s market on this little slice of land, sitting acrest one of Europe’s great rivers, is quickly becoming my favourite time of the week. Due to an unexpected change in programming, I can now almost always spend time there in the morning: gathering armfuls of apples to make Strudel with, tasting cheese with the funny old man under his striped veranda, persuading sweet old ladies to give me extra flowers and people-watching as self-proclaimed silver foxes waltz down Hauptstrasse with floral fabric-lined wicker baskets on their arms.
Piers and I are always making (ridiculously unfunny to anyone but us) jokes about the island which I inhabit – he is the ‘celebrity from the mainland’ and when I walk over the bridge into the Altstadt, I make a huge fuss about going ‘off island’ – but, in all truth, this farmer’s market is wonderful because there is no other means of purchasing Lebensmittel without crossing the water, due to the closure of all supermarkets ‘on island’. And truthfully, I just love the heady mix of senior citizens, OAP fashion (sincerely), locally sourced produce and bicycles galore.