Franconia day three (part two)

I almost manage to get us lost on our way back to Forchheim station.

"You're like a pigeon, dad."

"Because of of my unerring sense of direction?"

"No, because you can't walk without waggling you head around." Cheeky bastard.

Michael and Tom and waiting for us - most importantly with their car - at Buttenheim station. Thankfully. It's 2.3 km from the station to the St Georgenbräu Keller according to Google Maps. Not that much of a walk, until you consider the heat and the fact that it's all uphill. We'll get our exercise for the day walking back down it. For some reason I think I won't care as much then.

The view from the St Georgenbräu Keller is as stunning as I remember it. Considering which, the occupancy rate is shockingly low. We have our choice of tables. While Michael and Tom dispose of the car, I get in four Kellerbiers.

The Keller is in a beautiful setting, St. Georgen is a cracking beer and the atmosphere oozes the required tranquility. But there's one thing that grates a little: fake barrels. I can live without Bayerischer Anstich. I prefer it, but don't require it. But there's something about fake barrels that really rankles. Why not just be honest about the method of dispense?

We're soon gabbing away about war and peace, love and money, beer and pubs, and things that go bang very loudly. I'm glad Lexie isn't around to hear about all the dangerous-sounding legal explosives.

I don't know if it's really the effect of the trees, but it again seems cooler in the Keller. Could be psychological. Or in my head. Or I could just be imagining it. The beer, that could be it, too.

Michael and Tom cycled to Kreuzberg yesterday. I was there two years ago for Himmelfahrt. Wacky, wacky, day. Not sure I'd want to cycle there, having done the journey by bus. As Michael says, the clue to the difficulty of the ride is in the "berg" part of the name.

"Would you fancy cycling around here, Andrew?"

"No. I only cycle where it's flat, like at home."

"That's not very adventurous."

"I don't see you cycling up any hills." That's a low blow. I'm very sensitive of my inability to ride a bike. I'd never live it down if my colleagues found out.

After a couple, we stroll the few metres down the hill to the Löwenbräu Keller. Not far, but enough to get my thirst going.

"Look Andrew, beer straight from the barrel just . . . "

". . . as god intended. I know, dad. You've aleady said that half a dozen times." I'm pretty sure this is only the third time, but I let it go.

Being at the bottom rather of the hill, there's not much a view from the Löwenbräu Keller. Mostly you can see trees stretching up the hill above you and tables stretching out around the trees beside you. It's still a serene spot, where families languidly snack and sip. I could get used to this pace.

Being in a round with a couple of other committed drinkers has certainly helped me pick up the drinking pace. The beer is slurping down almost as swiftly as the Wiesent cruises through Ebermannstadt.

We leave Michael and Tom in the Keller in the early evening, heading down the hill when the sun's sting has been drawn. It's still hot.

"Don't you wish we'd walked up the hill as well?"

"You know you don't mean that, dad."

Back in Ebermannstadt, I'm feeling a little peckish, so we drop by Resengörg. It's a challening 10 metre walk from our hotel. We just make it, after pausing for oxygen twice, en route. I get a few sausages, sauerkraut and a Dunkles*. Though, as you can see, it's not all that Dunkles a Dunkles:

Andrew has an Apfelschorle.

"Aren't you getting tired of those apple things?"

"Do you get tired of those beer things?"

Good point.








* Hetzelsdorfer Dunkles Vollbier








St. Georgenbräu Keller
Strasse zum Georgenbräukeller,
96155 Buttenheim


Löwenbräu Keller
Eremitage 3
96155 Buttenheim
Tel. 09545 / 50 93 46


Hotel-Gasthof Resengörg
Hauptstraße 36
91320 Ebermannstadt
Tel. 09194 / 73930
Fax 09194 / 739373
http://www.resengoerg.de/

What I did on my hols

I do a fair bit of travelling to various destinations. It's hard getting around everywhere I'd like to. But there's one place I never miss: Franconia. I go there every year. It's a sort of pilgrimage.

A chance to drink simple, tasty beer in simple, cosy places, far away from the clamour of the city. About the only time I get anywhere near the countryside.

This year, for the first time, I went with my son. Though that's not quite true. We went to Annafest 10 or 11 years ago. This year was the first time he was of legal drinking age. That makes all the difference.

It wasn't a particularly long or complicated trip. Four nights in Ebermannstadt and one in Munich. A day at Annafest, one in Bamberg and another at the Kellers of Buttenheim. A return to places I love, beers that quench and a peace to be cherished.

I love Lager.  Annually renewing that love has become part of the rhythm of my life. It's not about drinking the rarest, oddest or strongest beer. But about reconnecting with the gloriously simple Franconian approach to beer. Where drinking a beer with your breakfast evokes no condemnatory glances. Where the beer isn't trying to show off and the food not straining to be clever and quirky and new. Where there's time to just sit and enjoy life, watching it meander past like lazy brook.

There wasn't a beer I didn't enjoy, though one really sated my thirst for Lager's perfect simplicity: Neder Export. Sublimely drinkable.

Franconia June 2011 (part two)

Day two started with a fight.

The hotel had seemed deserted when we arrived. Despite a bit of bumping around during the night I'd expected few other guests. Arriving in an empty breakfast room, this view seemed confirmed. Then, as we were still discussing which table to sit at, a horde descended. A horde of middle-aged cyclists, who ravaged the buffet before our eyes. I thought Mike was going to cry. Finally we fought our way to the front. I got the last egg.

The day's journey was simple: one bus then a mile or so walk. The bus we needed for the Hallendorfer kellerberg (which we later discovered is actually called the Keller Express) stopped by the church. It being the first bus on a public holiday, we'd expected it be quiet. How wrong can you get? The bus was packed full of keller-bound, partially leather-clad, men of all ages. Ascension Day - that's Father's Day in German - kind of logical, isn't it?

We didn't need the sign posts pointing the way to Kreuzberg, the string of men winding up the road toward the church led the way. I'd expected it to be a full house in the church - wrong again. Everyone was where every sensible person would be - on a seat under the trees, a mug of beer bristling with condensation on the table before them. Where to start? Left to right seemed the logical way, so we kicked off in Friedel. Friedels are weird bunch - they built a brewpub on a hill in the middle of nowhere and leased out their own brewery to someone else. As it happens, to Andy, whose pub we had been in the day before.

The beers were a bit dodgy. "That's infected, Mike." Mike had a doppelbock - bizarrely I hadn't opted for that as my breakfast drink. My Märzen wasn't much better. Very brewpubby. And I don't mean that as a compliment.

Quickly moving on, we took our place in peaceful shade, seated on and amidst rough, rustic furniture at Lieberth's Keller. Two words to tell you how good the beer was: Bayrsicher Anstich - beer served the way god intended. The garden slowly filled up around us and revellers slowly filled up with beer, schnapps and pork. The food, we can't forget the food, big chunks of it, roasting, crackling. Our beer, sadly was soon diluted by the streams of drool as we eyed the big hunks of pork passing by on other people's plates. Finally our numbers we called and we retrieved our sides of pork. Soon we were porking down the pork.

In Germany, Father's Day is more than just getting drunk with your mates - first you have to build a cart to house your entertainment and snack needs. The guys who parked their cart next to our table had obviously spent more than two hours building it. It included a smoke machine, a popcorn machine, two optics for schnapps and a sound system - all under a parasol. Oh, and a barrel of beer, too.

We didn't spend a long time there - no more than four or five hours. Sadly there was no bus strike, so we were forced to leave. We walked back to the bus stop, where several member of an angling club chatted with us in pretty good English. When the bus pulled up it was even more mobbed than the morning bus. Pushing aside the ancient members of the angling club we nabbed the last two seats. As the bus headed back towards our hotel, it kept filling up with more happy dads. One peacefully inebriated chav got the entire bus laughing by suddenly pulling out his wallet and yelling "ticket inspector!!!"

Shockingly, we arrived back at our hotel on time. Two elderly lady cyclists wanted to grab our rooms, but we beat them off with their air pumps. Our plan was to finish the day at, where else?, another bierkeller. We asked the hotel proprietors to call us a taxi, but they declined and instead offered to drive us there themselves. We pulled into St. Georgen Keller in time to hear the band singing some song about Amsterdam, but, while the other guests seemed fascinated, we managed to snag two seats in the best part of the beer garden.

Down the hill we got some L. beer from Bayrischer Anstich but it was a bit diacytelly this year. It was the same in our hotel. Shame really as last year it was one of the best beers of the whole trip.



As we sat there, a young guy came to our table and asked "Do you like my cart?" There's no real answer to that. Other than: "Yes." I didn't want to get into another fight.



Brauhaus am Kreuzberg -  Friedels Keller
Kreuzberg 1
91352 Hallerndorf, Germany
09545 4736
http://www.brauerei-friedel.de/



Rittmayer-Keller
Kreuzberg
91362 Hallerndorf, Deutschland
09545 4554
http://www.rittmayer-keller.de/



Kreuzbergkeller Lieberth
Kreuzberg
91352 Hallerndorf
Tel.: 09545-70746
http://www.bamberg-guide.de/bamberg/bierundbierkultur/location.php?loc=296


Löwenbräu Keller
Eremitage 3
96155 Buttenheim
Tel. 09545 / 50 93 46

Franconia June 2011

Random stuff from my hols. No Hirschgarten, unfortunately.

Buttenhem to Bamberg

Saturday 12th June Backstahäusla, Buttenheim 10:15

Funnily enough, walking back to the railway station is much more fun than walking from it. I guess that's downhill for you. There was a stop. At a supermarket. For Mike to buy toothpaste and for me to wonder how Oettinger beer can sell for 39 cents a half litre.

We've half an hour to wait for our train to Bamberg. Happily the pub next to the station is open. Time for a BB - Breakfast Beer. Don't you just love pubs that open at 10 am? I know I do.

The landlord is having breakfast, but is happy to pull us a pint. Pull me a pint. It's too early for Mike. [Mike assures me he did indeed drink a beer. Apologies to Mike for giving a false impression of his sobriety level.]  It's never too early for me. (Or too late, for that matter.)

Löwenbräu Lagerbier - is it full of beery goodness or beerily good? I may need a second to be sure.

The pub is quite nice. Old-traditionalled with a soupcon of kitsch and a dollop of formica. And dead, dead handy for the station. One of my favourite features in a pub.


Schlenkerla, Bamberg 11:30

I remember to take the right bridge and we miss out last year's wandering around aimlessly. All down to cockiness on my part. I was sure I knew the way. It's embarrassing getting lost in a town you claim to know well. This year, I checked the map first. Right after we'd dumped our luggage in a locker at the station. I'm turning into quite the seasoned traveller.

We're in the courtyard. Or Biergarten as it's rather grandly called by the owners. Mike and I discussed its status yesterday.

"It's more of a beer car park than a beer garden, Mike."

"But it's got trees. That makes it a garden."

"It has trees? I can't remember that. Are you sure?"

"It's got trees. For sure."

"The Amstelveenseweg [big main road close to where I live] has trees, but I wouldn't call that a garden."

"Don't be silly, Ron."

You tell me what you think. Garden or courtyard?




I'll admit that Mike is right about the trees. Almost. There's just the one. You can see a few of its leaves in the photo to the right.

But does one tree make a garden? Bit of philosophy there. I feel all Rab C. Nesbitt.

Garden or courtyard, it's cool here. Really nicely cool. To the point of drizzle. After the heat of the last few days, it's really cool.

Hang on. I need to try my beer. Been wasting my time chatting to you.

Scklenkerla Märzen - what the f*ck's this? I ordered a Märzen and they're brought me a dark beer. "Oi! Missus! I asked for an effing Märzen. What's this dark shit?"

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Scklenkerla Märzen - Mmm, mm, mmm, mmmmmm. Mm. Baconly good of beeriness.

Frühschoppen. The menu suggests Rauchbier Märzen. Bacon beer with morning shopping? Yes, I think it could work.

I'm eating Weisswurst. The perfect breakfast. Lunch. Tea. Dinner. Supper. Just perfect.

Church bells are banging away like teenagers on meth. Like a techno track, but without the beat. Noise, basically. Now I listen harder, it sounds like the intro to Foxy Lady. "You make me wanna get up and a scream." Know the feeling, mate.

You know something? I need to get on with my food. And, let's face it, I won't be limiting myself to just one of these Märzens. Let me get back to you later. Tomorrow, say. When I'll have tales of Lederhosen and Lagerbier. That's if my prescience glasses are working right.


Schlenkerla
Dominikanerstrasse 6,
96049 Bamberg.
Tel. 0951 - 56060
Fax 0951 - 54019
Email: service@schlenkerla.de
Homepage: www.schlenkerla.de

Munich to Buttenheim

I'm just back from a week in Bavaria. North Bavaria, mostly. Some magical times, some more prosaic ones. For the next week or two I'll be forcing you to relive it with me. hope it isn't too much torture.


Friday 11th June Munich airport 12:30


For reasons I really can't be bothered to explain, Mike and I didn't fly to Munich together. His plane is due to land at 12:30. Our train from Munich Hauptbahnhof is at 13:55. And the journey from the airport takes 40-45 minutes. "We've plenty of time" Mike reassured me, after booking the tickets. Yeah, right.

12:40 is the estimated arrival time. I keep making mental calculations. It doesn't look good. 12:40 comes. The plane hasn't landed, but the estimated arrival time is now 12:35. Must to some sort of time vortex over the airport.

Mike appears through the sliding doors at 12:55. "No rush, we've got 20 minutes." Mike had read that the S-Bahn took around 40 minutes to the Hauptbahnhof. That would be true if S-Bahn's left every minute. But they don't. Only every 10 minutes or so.

I've had the foresight to get us S-Bahn tickets. There are two waiting in the station: an S8 and an S1. The S1 is due to leave in 9 minutes and the journey time is given as 43 minutes. And it's 12:03. The S8 is due to leave in 1 minute, journey time 41 minutes.

I'm in such a rush to get on, that I forget to stamp our tickets. Which means they aren't valid.

"See, that wasn't too bad." Yeah. Two minutes later and we would have been fucked. We still could be if the S-Bahn is delayed for any reason. I start fretting about delays. Then I remember the bloke I saw get fined just yesterday for not having a valid ticket. On an S8. Should I burden Mike with this?

"I forgot to stamp the tickets." Why should I be the only one to worry. " And I saw a bloke get a 40 euro fine." But Mike isn't the worrying type.

Luckily, we're in Germany. The S-Bahn is dead on time. We've 10 minutes to get from the underground station to our ICE. It being Friday afternoon, the train is mobbed. And we have no seat reservations.

Mike finds two seats opposite each other with bags on them. At the third request the surly young adult removes his bag from Mike's seat.. "Klootzak." I say. Hope he doesn't understand Dutch as I've just noticed that he looks rather muscular.

"That was a rush, Mike."

"No it wasn't. we didn't have to run, did we?" Mike has an original view of what constitutes a rush.

"We made it by the skin of our teeth."

"No we didn't. We had 10 minutes to spare."

"Two minutes later at the S-Bahn and we couldn't have made it."

"But we didn't have to run."

It's pointless trying to push the point.


Buttenheim

I won't bore you with the lateness of the ICE, nor the pissing around in Munich station trying to find the connecting train. It's hot. Way too hot for me.



It's still hot when we arrive at Buttenheim station. It's not actually in Buttenheim. It's in a village called Altenberg Altendorf. Buttenheim is about a kilometre away. All uphill. I'm glad I've got Lexie's bag with wheels.

We get to our hotel all hot and sweaty. By the time we've checked in, we're even hotter and sweatier. My room is tucked under the roof, in full sunlight. It's boiling hot. Somehow, I've managed to get even hotter and sweatier. Sticking my head under the cold tap helps. Until I take it out again.

We walk right past the St. Georgen and Löwenbräu brewery taps. We're still sweat and hotty, but have another destination in mind. We're heading for Kellerstrasse. Now guess what's on that?


Bierkeller. In Fraconia, it doesn't mean the same as in the English-speaking world. It isn't a beer hall. It isn't even necessarily any type of permanent structure. It's a hangover from the days before artificial refrigeration. Brewers would store their beer in natural rock cellars, often just outside town. Packed with natural ice harvested from ponds, these cellars stayed cool all summer. Trees were planted to shade the entrances. Then some bright spark had the idea of selling their beer directly from the cellar. Add few picnic tables and away you go. A Bierkeller. One of man's greatest inventions.


We've two choices. St. Georgenbräukeller, up the hill; Löwenbräukeller just over the road. I'm sweatily hot and gagging for a beer. No way I'm walking up that effing hill.

They're selling Kellierbier, logically enough. Straight out of a barrel. The first one magically disappears into the pool of sweat that used to be my body.

"Do you want another, Mike?" I don't wait for a reply. There's no queue at the beer counter. And I'm counting on getting another beer quickly.

"1.80 for half a litre? The robbing bastards."

After two I've cooled enough for Mike to be able to persuade me to walk up to St. Georgenbräu. I won't try to describe the view. To do it an injustice with words like stunning or breathtaking. I breathe it in. Deep green breaths of countryside. Deep soothing breaths. And all the rush, all the sweat, all the annoyance are gone. I'm as happy as I've been in months. Calm, content and 100% on holiday.

They're dispensing their Kellierbier from fake barrels. it isn't a spot on Löwenbräu's. But I couldn't give a toss. There's more than just beer. Intangibles just as vital to the experience, the joy of life spreading through me.

And they've got Bierhaxe for just 5 euros.

Life really doesn't get better than this. Does it?


You'll find out tomorrow (or whenever I get around to writing it) in part two. When we head for Kulmbach. And a relaxing country walk.




Löwenbräu Keller
Eremitage 3
96155 Buttenheim
Tel. 09545 - 509346