Memorable Meals, Forgotten Festivals

Home and Away Magazine - published by AAA - has a feature entitled "Back Page" which asks readers to submit travel stories on a variety of subjects. The most recent assignment was ""Tell us about the best festival you've ever attended while traveling and why it was special." So I submitted the following. The real challenge was not recounting the story - it was making it short. This should not surprise anyone who knows me.


My mother and I – and a busload of traveling companions - were on a tour of Europe in October, 1995; we were scheduled to arrive at Innsbruck, Austria early in the day with most of the afternoon free to explore, but due to a labor strike which delayed traffic for several hours we stumbled out of the bus late in the afternoon and were informed by our guide that we had exactly 45 minutes to see the town square before moving on to Munich, Germany to spend the night. We were tired, stiff and in my case nursing a migraine, a situation which hunger did not improve even though everyone on the bus had been generous about sharing whatever treats they had purchased along the way. I stared blearily at my surroundings but my interest was suddenly revived by a magical aroma that was wafted along on the warm autumn breeze – brats! There was a festival in the town square and glory be, someone was selling bratwurst. I hurried over to the booth, but realized at the time, coming out of Italy as we were, I had only Italian currency. “Does anyone speak English?” I asked at the bratwurst booth. One person nodded tentatively, in the universal language that translates as “yeah…sort of…” “Will you take lira?” I asked (this was before the Euro became standard currency). “How much?” There was some discussion in Austrian among the booth workers. “Fifty thousand lira,” one said. My head was aching too badly to do the math; I scrabbled in my bag for a 50,000 lira bill. Suddenly another person waiting in line bravely threw herself between me and my waiting bratwurst. More discussion ensued and the booth worker turned sheepishly to me. “Five thousand lira,” she amended. OK – I had one of those too. I handed it over and was rewarded with a plate containing two brats, a huge chunk of rye bread and a puddle of spicy mustard. I never learned the name of the festival, but we remember it and Innsbruck fondly as the location of a truly delicious and reviving meal, as well as for the good Samaritan in line who prevented me from accidentally spending the equivalent of $50 for a brat - although in retrospect I was so hungry it probably would have been worth it!