Sunday mornings in rural Germany are noticeably quieter than in similar shopping-fuelled towns in England, so we had a quick getaway from Osnabruck.
I wish German had an alternative coffee option to McDonalds. Every alternate service station on the main road to Poland brings a giant M that would imperil a lowflying drone. That’s the highlight of their A1 equivalent though.
We were saving ourselves for a traditional lunch.
I thought I recognised Braunschweig as the answer to a history question I once got wrong, but it’s actually because they were on Bundesliga TV the other night.
As I resist paying a penny to park anywhere, particularly abroard, my free space at the University met a chorus of grumbles. Walking back 2 hours later through a cacophony of blaring car horns (a wedding, rather than a Bundesliga win) it seemed a wise idea to have walked a mile in.
As so often the case with their cities, you move from a formal but drab set of buildings to that fairy tale picture book German centre.
An astonishing complex of buildings around the Dom was disorientating, and we couldn’t find the visitor centre.
Luckily later I remembered we’d parked near the plastic dinosaur and my son recognised the recommended pub (closed, obviously a micro).
The problem with the German Christmas markets is rhe sudden desire to eat bratwurst (again), but in the interests of research we popped in to what I assume is Mutter Habenicht (Mother Hubbards), an authentic looking place.
Chintzy and Berni like, with a charming menu promoting Moms Kale Spezial. This was quite a plate, with the added bonus for Mrs RM that she got the Lubzer beer and vodka shot while I just looked on sadly.
Why don’t you let Mrs RM drive ? I hear you ask. No comment.
Anyway, the food was trencherman fare, whatever your personal views on stuff hanging from the ceiling and farmyard tat. Nice advertising.
It may be that Braunschweig has loads of hidden bars, but I didnt see them, just eating places like this.