Miho has me remembering the River Danube today and the year I spent living (rejoicing!) in a whitewashed house hunched on an island, crouched low on the back of Europe’s second longest river. Said river snakes slowly through backwoods hamlets in the fertile valleys of the Black Forest, winding through lush meadows and quaint towns in Western Bavaria. Not long before it meanders into Austria, where it becomes the celebrated waterway of Strauss’ famous waltz, it curves suddenly northwards – reaching the medieval city of Regensburg before it heads irrevocably south once more.
I know, I know – you’ve heard it all before (or at least, you have if you’ve been reading this here blog for some time). The sweet little city on the Danube, with coloured houses and log-munching beavers on the riverside. Pavement cafes and streets built with stone meant to last a thousand years. In winter, whirling snowstorms that bestow a holy silence across its streets. June days blazing hot, bristling with the youthful possibility of early summer.
But indulge me, won’t you? It’s six months now, since I stepped on Regensburger stone, six months since I slept in that house on the hilltop I know from childhood and picked redcurrants barefoot in the yard. Six months, since I rode my rattling blue bicycle by the river, and over a year since I could viably call the place home.
More Regensburg remembrances to come soon. If you’re new here, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do!