Alarm, fried egg, and boundaries

Tuesday: at 6 in the morning, the view was wonderfully clear, you could see very far. By 9, when we finally sit down for breakfast, it's already foggy and overcast. Our breakfast today is accompanied by the constant beeping tut-tut-tut coming from one of the neighboring apartments. We hope it's a crazy alarm clock, and if it turns out to be an unattended smoke alarm, we trust our luck that it's in one of the neighboring houses and not our vacation home, which will soon fall victim to the flames.

Our vacation apartment is wonderfully suited for our purposes. But we're puzzled by the kitchen equipment. In the cutlery drawer, we find 3 ladles and unfortunately only one more knife beside 4 normal knives - this is an absolute what-do-you-need-me-for knife. It can do nothing! It's serrated, but can't cut tomatoes, because the blade is so dumb that it turns them into tomato mush rather than tomato slices. Mario wants to use it to cut our bread this morning. Phew, what can I say, there are shredded bread pieces on the plates. Also very interesting is the frying pan. I can't even remember anymore when we used to have pans without non-stick coating. So I have beautiful fried eggs in the pan, want to take them out, and realize they're all firmly stuck to the bottom of the pan. I've photographed the result because I find it fascinating that one can be too stupid to make fried eggs.

Today we want to go cycling again. We start right from the apartment, a route to Eging am See. The first 20 minutes are just downhill and it's quite chilly. Then the route, which today is mostly on asphalt, becomes wonderfully varied again. Sun, shade, up and down. Hardly any cars and we pass many nice farms and small villages, through forests and fields, through meadows and briefly on the Danube-Ilz cycle path.

The lake in Eging is quite nice, but only for paying bathers who are in the lido. So no comparison to our Ebnisee! You can't cycle around the lake and the only gastronomy at the lake is closed today.

So the journey continues without a break at the lake.

Today's tour offers occasional moments to contemplate our own thoughts. This White Sausage Equator is stuck in my (Mario) mind. It is a demarcation line for the production and consumption of this regional specialty. Why doesn't this exist for Maultaschen (stuffed pasta) and potato salad, I ask myself now. I continue to think about whether there should be a purity law for Maultaschen and potato salad. As soon as mayonnaise is added to the potato salad, a boundary is clearly crossed for me. Potato salad consists of potatoes, onions, vinegar, oil, meat broth, salt, and pepper - done. My thought is supported by the salad also excellently prepared here. It is apparently at the same latitude. Perhaps the White Sausage Equator could be expanded in name and also be valid for potato salad and Maultaschen. Regarding Maultaschen, I agree with Vincent Klink: Maultaschen are filled with minced meat, sausage meat, onions, spinach, and parsley - otherwise they're not Maultaschen! I don't even understand why monks hid meat in pasta dough to enjoy meat during fasting, risking self-punishment. Now someone has the idea to fill them with vegetables!? That simply doesn't make sense. These pasta pockets with vegetarian fillings should have a different name. Even though everything has been regulated by European consumer protection, this negligence cannot be explained to me. I interrupt my thoughts, I'm getting too political now...

Lunch break is just before home in a great beer garden, the daily special is excellent there, and we cycle the last kilometers back, taking a nap in the sun. Because again today, the weather has turned out much better than the app predicted.

While I (Petra) am lying in the deck chair, I hear the neighbors talking about an alarm clock that started beeping this morning while they were having breakfast in the neighboring restaurant. Ah-ha, so it was them. They're a very funny family anyway, 3 generations going on vacation together. They're always very loud, talking on the phone with those back home while sitting on the balcony. Loud. Always loud. Only when the little girl (who I think is really cute) opens her mouth, everyone says "shh, not so loud!" Due to political correctness, we won't write it in the dialect used by the participants.

We enjoy dinner again 85 steps above our apartment, on the magnificent terrace in the evening sun.