I received my replacement copy of the 2006 Good Beer Guide to Germany at lunchtime. Should never have thrown the old one (after ripping out the brewery section).
Imagine if our own GBG was only replaced every couple of decades; it would be a doddle to do, unlike the chaotic reality.
The German guide is essential; Nuremberg has changed a bit but you could probably “do Cologne” with a 17 year old book.
The real issue is an over focus on the big cities like Berlin, Munich and, er, Karlsruhe.
No mention of Aachen, so after “doing the Dom” (sounds wrong). we had to find a pub by
asking a local looking for one that looked half decent.
I guess that’s how folk visiting Manchester end up visiting Mr Thomas’s Chop House, rather than the Hare & Hounds.
The market square, about to be overrun by Christmas stalls, had two contenders, separated by an incongruous Starbucks.
or Golden Unicorn ?
Mrs RM picked the unicorn. It seemed a good choice, all brown wood and tables by the bar.
OK, there was a slight sense of surprise we weren’t eating, but the Landlord (what do they call them in Germany ?) seemed to take great pride in pouring our Bitburgers and scraping foam off the top with a knife.
I’d forgot what beer other than Kolsch or Alt tasted like.
Quite pleasant, too, but the only banter came when Mrs RM gave me a lecture on the merits of puffer jackets, and something had clearly gone wrong with the Hi-Fi as instead of Nena and Kraftwerk we got this AOR classic.
FIVE TIMES IN A ROW ! If it was a ploy to get us to drink up it worked.
Some nice art, including this photo of The Three Tickers visiting the Isles of Scilly.
Around the market and town hall Aachen became a bit of a delight, belatedly,
and I will never tire of German sculpture.
But there wasn’t a lot to DO, apart from eat and drink, so we had this apple cake from a health food place called Dean & David. Having cake from a health food cafe reduces the calories.
And then we headed back to the station, having failed to identify this bloke on a lamp post. Is it Leif Garrett ?
Our return journeys cost double what I’d paid on the outward journey, conforming a suspicion I may have bought the wrong ticket.
Even Weckman looked guilty.