Dolores is on tea duty again before I awake.
“I suppose you won’t want any tea this morning.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because of the car journey.”
“What?”
“And pissing yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Give me a cup of tea.”
“That’s not what you said on Friday.”
“I’ve been to sleep since then. As my Mun used to say.”
“What does that mean?”
“No idea. It’s just a general get out.”
“Get out of what?”
“Any responsibility.”
“Perfect for you.”
There’s nothing like a cup of tea in the morning. Worth risking a trouser embarrassment.
You can guess what I have for breakfast. Don’t judge me. I am briefly tempted by the Nürnberger. But stick with just bacon and scrambled egg.
“You should go easy on the bacon, Ronald.”
“But a br…
“I know. A breakfast isn’t a breakfast without a large portion of heart disease.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Just what you were doing.”
“I’ll get some fruit in a minute.”
“That won’t make up for ten rashers of bacon.”
“It’s only seven rashers. And they’re tiny.”
“Right.”
“It’s OK, then?”
“I said, right.”
“That doesn’t sound like a: right, it’s OK. More like a: right, you believe that if you want.”
“Right.”
“You’re not making things any clearer.”
“Right.”
After we’re done eating, Lars Marius Garshol comes and sits by me. I’ve only seen him briefly so far this weekend. It’s good to have a chance for a proper talk.
We have a fascinating discussion about systems of taxation and how they influence the brewing industry and beer. So fascinating that Dolores goes upstairs to pack before we’re done.
I really appreciate conversations like this. There aren’t many people I can have serious discussions with about some topics. One fewer since Martyn Cornell died. I have to grab every chance I get.
Just before checkout time I drag myself away from Lars and join Dolores upstairs.
I’d hoped our luggage would be later on the way back, after selling lots of books. All the beer I’ve been given put paid to that hope. Not that I’m complaining. About the beer, I mean. I’m obviously not overjoyed at the weight.
We leave Romrod around 11:30. Christoph seems to have a similar luggage experience to us. The beer that he brought and served being replaced by beer he’s been given.
As we zoom along the autobahn, me and Christoph chat about the conference and beer in general.
It’s getting on for 15:00 when we’re dropped off at Düsseldorf Hauptbahnhof. About four hours before our train is due. We dump our bags in the left luggage and head towards town.
Our plan? Not that it’s much of one. Head towards Schuhmacher. Hopefully finding somewhere on the way to have a beer and maybe something to eat.
We don’t get even halfway to Schuhmacher before finding somewhere that looks OK. Barco.
“What do you think, Ronald?”
“They’ve got a Füchschen Alt sign. Let’s go in.”
For a German pub, the beer list is quite long. Six draught beers: Füchschen Alt, Peters Kölsch, Radeberger Pilsner, Mythos Hellenic Lager and Guinness Irish Stout. Not often you see Kölsch in Düsseldorf.
“Ein Alt, Bitte.”
What else would I drink in Düsseldorf? Certainly not Kölsch.
Dolores has a Hefeweizen. No surprise there.
“Do you want to eat? I wouldn’t mind something.” I ask.
“Can do. It seems to be some sort of Greek place.”
“Do you want to share a Schnitzel?”
“That’s not very Greek.”
“It’s what I feel like.”
“What about a souvlaki as well?”
“OK.”
The souvlaki is pretty nice. And only four euros. The Schnitzel is OK. Not huge, but not expensive, either.
“Can you hear the radio?” Dolores asks.
“What about it.”
“It’s Greek.”
“Is it?”
“Can’t you hear that?”
“No.”
“You’re going deaf.”
“What?”
“Very funny.”
Dolores has been tracking our train on an app. It started in Munich, got delayed a little, then caught up again.
“You never know with DB.” Dolores says. “Something always goes wrong. You’re lucky if your train runs at all.”
She’s had a lot of bad experiences when visiting her sister. Trains that didn’t turn up. Ones that just stopped at the border. Then there were all the delayed trains and missed connections.
“Hopefully, our train will be OK. Like the one out here.”
“That hadn’t travelled hundreds of kilometres in Germany.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
That’s got me worried. I fancy sleeping in my own bed tonight. Any bed, come to think of it.
We’re in no rush to leave. As we still have quite a bit of time before our train.
Around 18:00, we roll up at the station. Where we browse the bookshop before we pick up our bags.
Platform 17 should be it. The board by the stairs to the platform lists trains that all should have already left.
“Why are they showing trains that have already left?” I ask.
“Look more closely. They’re all delayed.”
“That’s not a good sign.”
Dolores checks the app. “Our train is still on time. For now.”
“Very reassuring.”
We find seats on the platform. And listen to all the delayed train announcements. Every train seems to be delayed. There are varied excuses. Sorry, reasons.
The train was prepared late. A police action. Unauthorised personnel on the track. A previous train was delayed. A technical problem.
“At least they’re being imaginative.” I remark.
“I’d prefer the trains to be on time.”
“Don’t be so unreasonable.”
Our train comes up on the board as the one after next. And on time. Hooray! Then disappears again.
Dolores checks her app.
“It says that our train has already left.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t see it.”
“Unless it left from a different platform.”
Cue mild panic.
An announcement informs us that our train is delayed twenty minutes due to a technical problem. Great. How do they know they can fix it in twenty minutes? Answer: they don’t.
The delay keeps increasing.
“If it’s over an hour late we’ll get some of our money back.” Dolores says.
“That’s something. As long as it runs all the way to Amsterdam.”
The train arrives seventy minutes late. And is pretty full. We a bit of messing around, we find seats. Plopping down with some degree of relief.
I prepare myself a “special drink” for the journey. Drinking half of a bottle of cola then filling it up with my hotel whisky.
“Don’t go crazy, Ronald.”
“You know me.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m saying: don’t go crazy.”
“You have such a distorted opinion of me.”
“Realistic, Ronald, realistic.”
I don’t go crazy. And the trip back is uneventful. If late.
In Amsterdam, it’s raining. Now there’s a surprise. We get a tram straight away. And are soon back home.
Andrew is waiting for us. Without any tea. He’s no Dolores.
Barco
Charlottenstraße 51,
40210 Düsseldorf.
http://www.barco-lounge.de/
A video, this time with a commentary. Of sorts.
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