Berlin (part four)

My drinking in Berlin is done. In theory, I could squeeze in a quick couple at the festival. It opens at 11:00 and our train leaves Hauptbahnhof at 12:46. But I don't want to take any chances. And Andrew wants to check out the first class lounge.


Berlin Hauptbahnhof
I think how responsible I've become when we arrive in Hauptbahnhof at 11:30. Now where's that lounge? There's a map in the station hall. The lounge is conveniently right next to our platform, lucky 13. But I spot something else on the map. Hopfingerbräu. That sounds like a brewery to me.

Making only a slight detour, our route to the lounge takes us past the promising-sounding Hopfingerbräu. "Do you mind if I go in and take some photos?" "Be quick. And no beer." Dolores can be so strict. It's like a modern Brauhaus inside, but I can't see any brewing kit. I look a menu. Now I understand. It has the same owner as Lindenbräu and sells that brewpub's Weissbier. And a couple of others from parent brewery Hofbräu Traunstein. Snap, snap, snap, and I'm done.

The lounge is very different to the one in Amsterdam Centraal. The staff are polite and friendly, for one thing. We sit down and are approached by a waitress, immaculately dressed in black and white. "What would you like to drink?" "A beer." "Would you like a snack?". This is more like it.

"Is it OK if I try the beer in Hopfingerbräu? We've still plenty of time." "OK, but don't be late." "Don't worry. I'm responsible Ronald now." Dolores still looks dubious. I still haven't quite convinced her of my new, responsible nature.

Hopfingerbräu has an excuse for looking quite modern. The whole station is brand, spanking new. How could it be anything but modern? Inside a pensioner couple are eating. Other than that, it's totally empty. Except for the barman and waiters en route to the terrace. I go outside, too.

There are still a few spare tables. I pick one by the door to give me plenty of opportunities for catching a waiter's eye. From our first-floor location, we have a great view of the nothing that surrounds the station. Apart from where it's obstructed by an enormous, and very shiny, statue that's half horse, half wheel. What the hell does that mean?

Despite my prime position, it takes a while to place my order, a Weissbier. It's appropriately spicy. Cloves, basil, cinnamon. That sort of stuff. Some banana, too. Not bad at all. 65 out of 100.

For a station boozer, it's pretty impressive. Decent beer, a real pub atmosphere. I love Germany. Dutch stations just have things that look like cafeterias, as cosy as motorway service stations.

Back in the lounge Dolores and the kids are the image of contentment. "We've had a second drink. They offered us more food as well." Quite a contrast with the jobsworth in the Amsterdam lounge shouting at the kids for daring to open a second cola.


The train
Our platform is mobbed. Lucky we have seat reservations. Even first class is totally full.

We haven't left the Berlin suburbs when Lexie asks "Can we go to the bar, dad?" I don't know where he gets it from. Dolores makes us wait another half hour. I consume a Kindl Dunkler Bock while I'm waiting. A bit caramelly, but OK.

The bar is crowded. I have to stand for my first Franziskaner. Then the bloke who looks like a midget weightlifter leaves. We grab his table. Or at least me and Andrew do. Lexie has already returned to his seat, disgusted at the lack of Fanta. He doesn't care for the Apfelschorle he gets instead.

Journeys are miraculously shorter when you're sat in the bar. I don't know why, but it's true. Andrew and I chat and watch the flat landscape ease effortlessly past. He likes Berlin and wants to return. He hasn't worked through all the sites in his Nazi Berlin book yet.

An American backpacker on the next table tells his mates how sweet our English accents are, seemingly unaware we can understand him. He looks little older than Andrew, despite his attempted beard.

In Hannover station I look for the little bars on each platform. The ones Johnny Ash tried to crawl around while we waited for our connection to Düsseldorf in 1982. They're gone. I feel a twinge of sadness mixed with nostalgia. Come on emotions, sort yourselves out. One at a time, I said.

A steady, sad line of passengers loaded with luggage and in search of a seat trails through the bar. Like refugees. God, this train is packed. I haven't the heart to tell them that ahead lies a single, full, first-class carriage.

Lexie comes to fetch us before I have chance to order a third Franziskaner. Oh well. Have to make do with the bottles I brought with me. Dolores isn't worried I've drunk too much. She's fed up of being asked if mine and Andrew's seats are free. The train is so full, even people with first-class tickets have to stand. We hear them complaining to the conductor.

I manage to complete neither the sudoku nor my book before we reach Amsterdam. That's three holidays I've taken that novel on. Still 80 pages to go. Maybe I'll finally finish it during September's Copenhagen trip.


Hopfingerbräu
Europaplatz 1
10557 Berlin
Tel: +49 (0)30 - 2062 4624
Fax: +49 (0)30 - 2062 4626
Email: info@hopfingerbraeu-berlin.de
Homepage: http://www.hopfingerbraeu-berlin.de
Opening times: April-September 09:00 - 22:30, October-March 11:00 - 22:30