Passau

The view from the castle

JUNE 26

Another clear sky, pastel blue. That Eurasian Blackcap is still going strong. According to Merlin, he or she has either eaten or scared away all the other birds. It's a complex, melodious call, energetic and cheerful. Where's everybody else?

The traffic on the road next to us doesn't help with bird identification. I've got my back to it, facing the sunrise, and here it comes. It's supposed to be in the 80s today, a sort of relief from the 90s of yesterday. The river is moving slowly, shimmering in the light. The barbarians have not shown themselves yet.

Today, as noted earlier, we leave our berth at 7AM and dock in Passau by 8AM, and do the walking tour through the morning. Then we can wander through town during the afternoon, since the ship will be right there, which is a nice change.

Last night we had a two person oom-pah band entertain us for a while. I didn't feel so well, so was not entirely receptive. Abbey can tell you more about it. I'm feeling a little better this morning, although it may be all the drugs and supplements Abbey gave me. I actually slept pretty well, all things considered.

Passau is a beautiful city. We sailed around the bend and there it was, climbing the hill between the Danube and the Inn rivers: large blocky buildings and a very large cathedral at the top. Every building in town is painted a pastel color, one of maybe seven or eight to choose from, according to regulation. The effect is magical; pretty. There's not much trim, so it is almost entirely pastels climbing up the hills and down the other side.

The Celts were here first, 3000 years ago, and they came for salt. Salt enriched Passau for centuries. There was also (surprise!) a prince bishop here for a few hundred years during the late Medieval; he built a rambling fort on the heights above the town, across the river. The Passau-ians didn't like the prince bishop, but since he held all the secular and religious power, they couldn't do much. So they built a huge town hall, to rival the prince bishop's castle. Take that!

Passau fell on hard times for a while, and could not keep up with the architectural fashions for about 150 years. Then the government insisted that they not change any part of any building in town, and that the buildings be painted according to a strict color code – certain pastels. It's all been that way ever since – according to our guide. Regardless, it is a very beautiful city in all its details. Today, it certainly benefits from tourism, at least – when we pulled in, we were either the seventh or eighth ship of our size in town.

The cathedral is the first Italian Baroque cathedral built north of the Alps (the Baroque again! Whoopee!). It replaced most of the Gothic cathedral that burned down in 1662, in a great fire that destroyed most of the town. When they rebuilt, they rebuilt out from the remaining spire, and it exists today. Just FYI and mine, the Baroque did not leave us with really flamboyant exteriors; all the madness was inside.

And the inside of this Cathedral sure qualifies as first class Baroque. Many huge frescoes about a mile above the floor, each crammed with more people than should comfortably occupy the space. Statues all over the place, big and small, crawling round the walls, hanging from the alcoves, and so on. Endless architectural flourishes. This is a big space.

I ended up reading a bit about the difference between the Italian Baroque and the French Baroque (Versailles) – here's the Internet's take on it:

Italian Baroque is known for its emotional intensity and dramatic use of light and shadow... French Baroque, while also incorporating these elements, tends to be more classical, controlled, and focused on grandeur and the display of royal power.

“Controlled.” Ha! There certainly is “emotional intensity and dramatic use of light” in the cathedral; everything is dialed up to 11 or 12. I found, however, that there seemed to be more organization, more purpose to the decorations in the cathedral than in the Bishop's Palace in Wurtzburg. As crazy and chaotic as it gets, the Gospel story is being told, and everything, in the end, relates to that. This doesn't make it any less flamboyant or outrageous; it does make you (it made me) feel a little more grounded.

The pipe organ in the cathedral is the largest in Europe and the largest Catholic pipe organ in the world, with just under 18,000 pipes. There was an organ concert a little after our tour ended, and we went to hear it. It was already so hot at 11:15 that I went over to a fountain in the courtyard where we all waited, and splashed water on my face. It felt good.

The cathedral was almost full – remember, seven or eight boats, with maybe 150-200 people each on them, are in town. The organ is being renovated – there's a huge portable crane in the sanctuary, at the back where the organ is. But there are still thousands of pipes that can be used.

I thought the sound of the organ was muddy – it was hard, and sometimes impossible to hear distinct notes and chords, but the sound really filled the space. A guy talked for ten minutes before the concert began, in German and then in English, and we couldn't really understand a word he said, probably because of the quality of the PA system. The concert – a little more than a half hour, with six or seven pieces – ended with the Toccata from Charles-Marie Widor's Organ Symphony No. 5 in F minor, which you have probably heard (thanks Google for the whole name) and should look up if you haven't. It's what you play when you want to be grand and triumphant on an organ.

Rush down to the ship to get lunch, where we're joined by a couple from Ontario, on Lake Ontario, who talked about an interesting trip they had taken to Newfoundland. They were very taken with Gander, where many of the planes which were suddenly grounded on 9-11 ended up. The airport is now a museum (imagine that!). That whole experience was wrapped up in a Broadway musical called “Come From Away,” a film of which is available on Prime. You should see it. Really.

The couple also saw big icebergs just off the shore of a small village, and showed us the pictures. I want to see an iceberg.

But then the wife told a story of her daughter, an elementary school teacher, who had something funny happen on Pajama Day. “I told her – she didn't like it, but I told her – that she should dress professionally at her job. I she wants to have Pajama Day, she should stay home.” OK...

Abbey went up to the castle, which, in the 91 degree heat, was beyond the ability of my fevered brain to attempt. I stayed back and did laundry one more time – we're set until we get home, then brought my wet jeans up to the roof deck to see if they'd dry in the sun. After an hour, I had to go back down to cooler temperatures, and the jeans weren't very dry. Oh well.

We're pulling out of Passau, backwards. We have to turn around, and I'm assuming that we'll do this when we get past the confluence of the River Inn, which is bigger than the Danube and comes to us from the Swiss Alps, and therefore is milky in color because of all the rock flour that has been washed down from the glaciers. The mouth of the River Ilz is right here too – a much smaller river, dark with organic material.

We're straightened out and on our way. Down the Danube!