Away we go

“Do you fancy coming to Essen, Dolores?”

“Why are you going there?”

“I’m giving a talk.”

“Are you getting paid?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Maybe.”

Such enthusiasm.

Dolores had already agreed to come, when she discovered that the trains to Germany were buggered up on the relevant weekend. Some sort of works on the rails. Normally, we could get a train to Duisburg – under two hours – and then have a short hop on the S-Bahn to Essen.

Except the ICE service to Düsseldorf and Cologne is diverted via Venlo. Using that, getting to Essen would involve changing a couple of times. And take getting on for four hours, rather than two and a bit.

“How will we get there?” Dolores asked.

“Good question.”

“An answer would be nice.”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Business as usual, then.”

“Haha.”

“Just sort it out.”

“OK.”

Not wanting to invoke the wrath of Dolores, I did some poking around on the internet. And found an alternative route. Taking an NS train to Venlo and then changing to a couple of regional German trains. Not just quicker, but also more convenient. As the tickets would be valid for every train, not just specific ones.

Problem solved. Dolores happy. Me happy.

We leave home around 10:30 bound for Amsterdam Zuid. Now there’s another advantage of this route: we don’t have to go to Amsterdam Centraal. Through the tourist hell of the city centre.

Amsterdam Zuid is more of a commuter station. Currently undergoing a massive rebuilding programme. Sometime in the not-too-distant future the motorway will disappear underground. Currently, cars whizz past just a few metres away from the platforms. Lovely.

The service to Venlo is one of the longest train journeys you can take from Amsterdam, without running of the edge of the country. Lasting around two hours. We settle in for the ride.

I’m so used to stupidly long flights that a couple of hours seems like fuck all. Especially in the comfort of a train. Dolores is playing with her new MP3 player. While I read the latest Viz. I’m feeling quite relaxed. And A true intellectual.

I take some video of the fields.

“People like cows.” I say, defensively.

“You’re weird. No-ne wants to see boring fields.”

“With cows in them. “

“Right. A few cows suddenly make fields interesting.”

“More interesting.”

“Than what?”

“A field without cows.”

“You’re weird and stupid.”

There’s a bit of a stampede in Venlo as pretty well everyone on our train rushes to get onto the German one. We’re lucky enough to get seats. Rather crammed in mind, as the carriages weren’t built with luggage in mind.

Everything ran perfectly smoothly while we were in Holland. Virtually as soon as we cross the border, things start going wrong. With our train stopping to wait foe freight trains. We miss our planned connection in Viersen. The train service in Germany has turned to total shit. It makes the Dutch railways look like those of Japan.

It’s a rather desolate station. With half a dozen windswept platforms and not much else. 

“Would you fancy moving here, Dolores?”

“No. I’d rather move back to Eisenach?”

“You’d be up for that then?”

“No. There’s nothing to do there. I just wouldn’t want to move here. It looks shit.”

“Far enough. I wouldn’t want to move back to Newark, either.”

Not unless the only other option was Grantham. Newark’s evil twin. I’d rather move to hell. Or Newark. Not much difference, really.

Luckily, we don’t have to wait very long. Just 15 minutes for the next Essen-bound train. Which is also pretty crowded. We do find seats, though.

We’re being collected at Essen Hauptbahnhof by Peter van der Meer. Owner and brewer of Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt. A tiny brewery in an inner-city suburb of Essen. I send him a message to let him know that we’re running a little late.

We don’t have to wait long for Peter to pick us up and whisk us off to our hotel. My talk not being scheduled to start for a few hours, we have a chance to relax in our room. Though there’s only space for one of us to stand at a time. And getting onto the toilet requires some contortion.

We drop by Lidl for supplies. 

All the essentials. Rolls, cheese and ham for the journey back to Amsterdam. And a bottle of the cheapest whisky. Under 7 euros on special offer. Fuck me, that’s cheap. It would be stupid not to buy a bottle. And I pride myself on not being an idiot. (Not that the kids would agree with me on that.)

“I hope you’re not going to drink all that whisky tonight.”

“No, that’s a sipping whisky.”

“At under 7 euros a bottle?”

“Yes, I’ll last all of today and tomorrow.”

“That’s “sipping”? Drinking a bottle of whisky in two days?”

“Sounds like a challenge to me.”

“Fuck off, Ronald. Just drink yourself to death.”

“Sounds like a . . .”

“Fuck off.”

We marvel at bottles of organic wine for under two euros a pop. Almost as good value as the whisky. Wondering why Dutch cheese is cheaper here than at home. And why eggs increase 50% in price when they cross the border into Holland.

A tear comes to my eye when I get to the checkout and see 100 ml bottles of Chantré next to the sweets. It’s the classic impulse Schnapps. Heartwarming to see the tradition alive and well.

We wander down to the brewery around 17:30. And get stuck into some beer. Just to get my throat lubricated for all the talking I’ll be doing. Which is quite a lot.

My talk is on the history of IPA. And Peter has brewed five historic beers to go along with it. 1838 Combe IPA, 1877 Truman P1, 1911 Whitbread IPA, 1939 Barclay Perkins IPA and 1991 West Coast IPA.

The beers are served at appropriate points in the talk. And I actually get to properly drink them this time. Very nice they are, too.

It’s a pretty relaxed talk. With me digressing on wild tangents a few times. With a short break in the middle, I talk for 2.5 hours. Plenty of laughs. And interesting questions. When it goes well, I really love talking. 

Though, let’s be honest, I love talking even when it isn’t going great. Like with my audience of one in Brazil a couple of years back. I just like talking when no-one is allowed to interrupt me. Unlike in most of my life.

I feel pretty knackered when I’m done. But happy. Time for more beer.

A bottle of 1980s DDR Berliner Weisse appears. Such wonderful stuff, even after all these years.

I don’t stay up too late. I’m too old for that nonsense. And I want to be human for the train back to Amsterdam. With Deutsche Bahn, you never know what might happen.



Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt 
Pollerbergstrasse 3
45145 Essen
https://www.frohnhauser-sudwerkstatt.de/

 

A couple of videos about the trip.