It is very easy to get lulled into eating hotel buffet breakfasts.
They are a) “free”, b) lavish and contain everything a cyclist could want [egg/bacon, cereal/fruit/yoghurt, bread/cheese or jam with a hamster-powered toaster, lashings of unlovely coffee and juice] and c) super-easy to organise [go downstairs, eat breakfast]. But you are locked into the sterile world of the hotel and you don’t experience the outside weather or the passing world.
We wrote about the fabulous swampwaterjuice and creative porridge in Vienna, where the hotel wanted €20 a head for their buffet giving us a mental budget so large that we could creatively over-order.
Today in Bratislava we were in the fabulous washing-machine-equipped apartment so again were driven out (oh the pain, the agony) onto the street for breakfast. Gave us a chance to observe the silver euro in action as hordes of sensibly-shod oldies were ushered past.
It’s the sort of thing that starts you wondering if you can tell the origin of the group by the nature of the footwear.
The “Man at Work” sculpture might have his own views on that topic.
