Bamberg - Amsterdam

I'm used to getting up early. Breakfast at eight am was no problem. The earlier we ate, the more time we would have in Bamberg. I'd not been there in three years and wanted to make the most of the opportunity.

Mike had spent most of the trip looking for two things: a hat and a stein with a lid. He'd found a hat in Gößweinstein. The stein he picked up in Sonne, just as we were leaving.

The stumpy, green Deutsche Reichsbahn coaches were still parked in Ebermannstadt station, but there was no sign of the steam locomotive. We caught a train just after nine, destination Forchheim. A spanking new, cheerful red DMU. We had to wait a while to get on, while a party of 700 teenagers got off. It's surprisingly popular, the Forchhem - Ebermannstadt branch line.

Engineering works meant we had to get a bus from Forchheim. No big deal, as it's not that far. It wasn't much past when, baggage stashed in a locker, we walked boldly towards town. First scheduled stop: Fässla. Spotting a bakery on the way, I picked up Dolores's present. A sourdough loaf. I'm so generous.

Once on Obere Königstrasse, I mad a slight detour to Bamberger Weissbierhaus. To check what beer they were selling since the demise of Maisel. Turned out they were still selling Maisel beer. The one from Bayreuth. Sounds fair enough.

Fässla gets little geek love compared to Schlenkerla, Spezial, Mahr's, or even Keesmann. I'm not sure why. They've a varied range of liquid beers (using "solid" as an adjective to describe beer is just silly). And I really like the pub. Its corridor, hatch and multiroom layout reminds me of the Leeds pubs in drank in as a young man.

Given the early hour, it was surpisingly full. There is one thing that pisses me off about Fässla. The fake barrels. I wish they wouldn't do that. Either have proper barrels or normal pressure pumps. For the first time, we didn't order Dunkles. They didn't have one on draught. Instead we had Lagerbier. "What style would you call this, Mike?" I teased. "Is it more of a Landbier or a Vollbier?" "Shut up and drink."

We didn't go into Spezial. We were saving that for the walk back. Instead we headed straight into town. I told you it had been a while since I'd been in Bamberg. I got a little disorientated, though I didn't mention this to Mike. We were trying to make our way to Schenkerla. "It's down this way." I said confidently, picking a street at random. We were bound to hit the river eventually, then we'd be sorted.

"Ooh look. There's a bookshop." As usual, the drink section had 12,000 wine books, a few hundred whiskey books and a whole shelf dedicated to cocktails. Beer was represented by two Michael Jackson books, translated into German. I had more luck the area dedicated to Franconia. A colourful book about 100 breweries in the Bamberg area. While I was paying for it Mike found a map that marked all the Franconian breweries. And the playing cards that together with it made up some sort of game. Best get all those, too, then.

Mike was beginning to doubt my navigational skills. "Do you know where your going?", he asked. "Of course I do." I lied. A second-hand bookshop came into view. Getting lost had its advantages. "I'll just take a quick look in here." Mike tapped on his watch in irritation. He must have been getting hungry again. It didn't take but a couple of seconds to see they had nothing of interest in stock.

I finally relented and looked at my map. As I wasn't sure where we were, it didn't help much. "It must be this way." Mike said in exasperation. I was still rotating the map, trying to get it to match the streets. We stumbled upon the river. "Told you it would be simple." I said cheekily. Mike was silent.

With great relief we eventually planted our arses in Schlenkerla's beer garden. Very pretty, it is. In a baroque courtyard. Baroque apart from the gothic church, that is. It was crowded. Mostly with pensioners. It looked like a coach party, but they were friendly and in good spirits.

"Can we go somewhere else to eat?" Mike said after perusing the menu. "What?" I'd spotted Bierhaxe and was in no mood to shift. With ran through our options as we drank draughts of Rauchbier. I caught the waitress's eye. "Can I have a Rauchbierschnapps, please." That would help me think better.

Mike relented and agreed we should stay put. He must have seen the pathetic look on my face as I contemplated missing out on Bierhaxe. The pensioners were most amused when I photographed my beer. They can't move much in geek circles. It's become de rigeur.

The food was stunningly good, in an unassuming way. You can bugger off with all that fancy stuff. The simplicity of German food is a thing of timeless beauty. All you need is a pig, an oven, a few dumplings or potatoes and away you go. To food nirvana.

On the way out we stopped at their shop. We'd got eight hours on trains. How many half litres would I need? Much rather drink Schlenkerla than take pot luck at the station or on the train. (Though the alkies at the station had been drinking bottles of Fässla. Don't you just love Franconia?) The number of bottles I bought (four) was limited more by my carrying than drinking capacity. I got a bottle of Rauchbierschnapps, too.

Bamberg is much more touristy nowadays. More beer touristy as well. The shop opposite Schlenkerla, along with the usual tourist tack, also had a fairly reasonable range of Bamberg beers. I picked up a T-shirt for Andrew. All my presents bought and still two hours to go. I was well ahead of schedule.

On our way back through town I spotted another secondhand bookshop. Mike didn't say anything, but I could see by the look on his face that he'd hoped my bookshopping was over for the day. "Do you have any books about beer?" They had three. Including a technical book called "Die Bierbrauerei", published in 1915. Perfect. I bought it. [I just checked on the web to see if I could find the author. I couldn't. But I did download 8 books from Google Books with Bierbrauerei in their title. And ordered another two from Abebooks.]

"That's me done with bookshops for today." I said when I came out. "Glad to hear it."

Rather than rush too much, we'd planned a limited number of stops. Spezial was our last. As we neared there was a smell I recognised from my youth. It used to waft over the palying fields from the nearby Castle Brewery. It was the smell of boiling wort. "They must be brewing." Mike didn't seem very impressed. Food is the only smell he's interested in.

I really like Spezial's beer garden. It's another courtyard, really. With the pub on one side and the brewery on another. We found a table on the shady side and ordered two Rauchbiers. Mike was soon gazing longingly at the meals of our fellow customers. I think he's got a tapeworm. He'd been searching vainly for a butchers all over town. They aren't usually difficult to find in Germany. All Bamberg's appear hidden. He wanted a snack for the train.

We only had time for a couple. Didn't want to miss the train. First a regional train to Würzburg and from there an ICE to Hannover, where we picked up our last connection to Amsterdam.

Getting to the buffet car on the ICE was great fun. How can I count the obstacles? A dog, wheelchair, several hundred wheelie bags, dossing youngsters, protruding feet, a few hundred more wheelie bags. "A Pils, a sandwich and an Asbach please."

Sitting in the bar was pleasant. I tried not to think about the obstacle course between me and my seat. Another Asbach took my mind off it for a minute.

There weren't the same number of obstructions on the way back. There were more. I tried to just think of the Krug of Schlenkerla waiting by my seat. A poor DB employee was trying to push a trolley of coffee and snacks through the train. "Can you help me lift my cart over these bags?" No problem, mate. I shouldn't complain about my job.

Did I mention we sat in a compartment? Just me, Mike and a bloke with smelly sandwiches. The bloke also had what looked like a cool box on the floor. I wondered if he'd let me put my beer in it. What did it say on the top? "Menschliches Knockenmark". Must have been some sort of quark in it. Or yoghurt.

I didn't mange to finish off all my bottles of Schlenkerla. Too knacked. The last four hours of the journey dragged and dragged and dragged. I got back to Amsterdam Zuid a minute after 11 pm. Why hadn't I taken off the next day?