Germany

Boulevard of broken dreams

DSCN3537By this stage we had consumed enough Schnitzel and wurst to keep a currywurst vendor in business so we headed for some real curry at the Indian joint just a couple of doors down the street. Currywust, a Berlin favourite, is my least favourite wurst by the way. It’s basically just a frankfurt with awful curry sauce. The Indian place near our apartment on the other hand was real Indian – different to Australian Indian but Indian flavours nonetheless. The prices were so cheap we over ordered a bit. At two euros a serve, we figured the samosas came singularly so we ordered two serves. They turned out to be normal sized, homemade and really yummy. The alloo mutter was really, really good as you might expect from a country famed for its potato dishes. The chicken tikka was a bit different to what we’re used to. It came on a sizzling plate with lots of onions and capsicums and while it was quite tasty, it didn’t taste anything like the chicken tikka from the tandoor oven that we’re used to. Each main was served with rice and salad. The Naan bread was pretty good. And because it was a German restaurant the drinks list was longer than the food menu, including cocktails I haven’t heard of in years and beer was cheaper per litre than water.

After stuffing ourselves and still leaving food on the plate, we decided it was time to get out and see some stuff. We had seen many of the attractions that interested us on our last visit – we had walked much of the remaining wall, visited the holocaust museum, checkpoint Charlie, the Brandenburg Tor, walked Unter den Linden, seen the TV Tower and visited every Christmas Market in our path. I was keen to walk Karl Marx Allee to get an appreciation of the spaces where the massive GDR marches would have been held. That is after we actually found Karl Mark Allee. (Sheena is a Punk Rocker – The Ramones – lack of music complexity aside (and really who expects that from Joey and co), this is one of my favourite Ramones tunes. My love of punk rock and teen drama collided when Gossip Girl used this tune as the basis for an impromptu fashion show and I’ve got to admit the visual mix that accompanied it on the show was perfect – even if it probably made a few of the gritty CBGB regulars roll over in their graves.)

At its Alexanderplatz end, the boulevard named after the grandfather of communism doesn’t look like much – surrounded by decaying buildings that look close to an undignified end from a wrecking ball with the middle of the avenue converted to a parking lot like so many wide roads before it. But as you wander further along the boulevard, its former glory days in the 1960s start to hit home with architectural references and the magnificence of median strip and the rows of trees either side.

And there just peeking out on the left hand side was a modern update- just for Dan – The Computer Games Museum. We decided to limit ourselves to checking out the gift shop – good museums usually have a pretty awesome gift shop and as has been long established I love a good gift shop. There were a few good things in here but in the end we kept it conservative and got a postcard to prove we’d been.

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As we wandered further up the Allee, the history came into sharper focus as row upon row of magnificently designed housing rose from the sidelines to provide the grandeur (and symmetry) that one expects from a communist regime. Standing there, with the traffic stopped at lights further along, if you squinted you could almost see the goose stepping and hear the bullhorns. All we needed was the crackly loudspeaker from the Dülmen train station that sounded like it had stepped through a time warp to echo broadcasts of the Nazi and GDR era. It was unnerving sitting at the Dülmen train station late at night but you could imagine it here blaring from loudspeakers on the street during displays of GDR military might. (Bone Machine – The Pixies – I always get there on any trip but The Pixies have taken a long time to surface in my MP3 roster this time around. Well enjoyed though as always)

At the Frankfurter Tor end of the Allee, the buildings were most magnificent, actually designed as part of a 1950s design competition for nine – storey apartments with trade and public institutions at street level. The buildings were gran, modern and with all the symmetry you expect. The competition winners – five or six of them – were given a section to design for – all had the same design sensibility and the resulting buildings created a right angled harmony of form broken only by the traffic circle at the frankfurter Tor intersection – yes roundabouts are not just a modern traffic flow device but were also used to create a sense of order and symmetry in modernist town planning. Sadly, the Stalin Allee project was never completely realised but the buildings around Frankfurter Tor are an example of how town planning and architecture without democracy produces a grand order much like the neatly hedge rowed formal gardens that surround many of Europe’s Palaces but on a larger scale.

We mused at the ability of communist regimes to embark on massive infrastructure projects, creating unified design outcomes and housing for the populous. Of course the housing model is based on a one size fits all solution, and they ran out of cash so never completed their utopian dream here. Perhaps it speaks to the broader reasons for the doctrine’s collapse – the reality never matched the utopian dream and the egalitarian philosophy belied the need for individuality. Still, it is interesting to ponder the planning possibilities that are available without the influence of big business, the bureaucracy of local government, development driven by economists or the grass roots nimbyism that limits utopian dreamers in the 21st century.

As we wandered along the Boulevard Dan hadn’t just been noticing the GDR era planning but also the post-reunification capitalism. The ground floor public institution spaces were filled with high end outdoors stores, cafes and (of course) a model shop. I found a café down the street that advertised hand roasted beans and had a flat white on the menu. A flat white. In Germany. I ordered one and some water and sat down at the extremely hipster looking Coffee Profilers and contemplated our next destination to explore. The coffee, by the way, was awesome – really strong but creamy and very well made. I thoroughly recommend seeking out this little gem if you are in Friedrichshain (or have a model kit obsessed travelling companion). Dan emerged from the model shop without purchase as he wanted to contemplate a coveted model – of the Unimog I heard so much about at the Mercedes museum – overnight. By this stage it was close to 7pm and exhausted by our busy afternoon (and lack of overnight train slumber) we headed to Frankfurter Tor (where by the way there doesn’t seem to be an actual gate anymore) and grabbed the U-Bahn back to our apartment for the rest of the evening. (Special K – Placebo – for some reason this song reminds me of summer nights and parties in the 90s. Placebo were never the core of my track list but there was a time there where I swear I heard this tune every time I left my house.)

Shoe purchases – 2  Tank Museums – 0  Model purchases – 0 (yet)

Guten Morgen Berlin

We thought Berlin would be easy because we had been there before – but that was a year and a half before and we hadn’t expected to be returning so didn’t really commit any of it to memory. We were also really tired. Eventually we worked out which station we needed to head to and how to get there. Then we had to deal with the ticketing system which not only serves the local S-Bahn and U-Bahn networks but also the wider German train network. Eventually we deciphered how to get a day pass for the local network. The kicker was that the machine wasn’t accepting cash and didn’t except credit cards which made my travel card kind of useless. The maestro network saved the day and I used my savings withdrawal card.

The next dilemma was remembering the right station to get off at (and how to get there). We vaguely remembered we had to change trains somewhere – probably between the S-Bahn and U-Bahn networks. In most parts of Germany, the S-Bahn is the train network and the U-Bahn is the tram or light rail system. In Berlin these are called trams. The S-Bahn network is an electrified third rail network that in the central part of the city runs through the same stations inter-city trains stop at. The U-Bahn is the underground/ above ground network that transitions from underground tracks to a kind of high line. While both networks existed during the cold war, more of the U-Bahn stations were in the West and several in the East were closed down. Where the Western trains travelled through the east, the stations remained closed and well-guarded and became known as ghost stations. In the early years after the division, the GDR used to sell duty free items to West Berliners at a number of stations situated under East Berlin. Given some of the U-Bahn stations had been repurposed and routes altered, it took a little while to put the system back together after reunification.

Eventually after surveying the station map, (and the GPS) we remembered Ebswalder Strasse station on the U-Bahn and then traced the nearest S-Bahn station as Alexanderplatz. We got to the U-Bahn station at Alexanderplatz after an epic journey up and down stairs between the two stations. The night before Dan had mentioned that he was wary of one of us missing a train when we did our dice with the schedule at München Ost. Several years ago we had found ourselves in an interesting position when Dan had got off the train we just boarded at the Gold Coast in order to take a phone call, leaving me on board with all our luggage as the train pulled away. Two hours later I waited about half an hour in Brisbane after struggling to offload the luggage with some assistance from some very helpful fellow passengers. This morning, because he was tired Dan rushed to catch the train, forgetting that my strapped foot preclude me from moving fast, especially while towing my luggage. He got off at the next station and waited for my train. He found me again but not until after I had a run in with a ticket inspector who harangued me for not validating my ticket on the platform. She subsequently signed the ticket and outlined to me several times that her signature was in place of a validation. The funniest part – the trains were less than five minutes apart. (Woman in Chains – Tears for Fears one of their lesser known numbers, but one of my faves. The Hurting was one of my first three band albums (along with Adam and the Ants’ Prince Charming and Madness’ One Step Beyond). Their new wave appearance and love of synthesisers belied lyrics as dark and miserable as any written by Morrissey and The Cure.)

When we got off at Ebswalderstrasse everything was familiar, yet different. Last time we were in Berlin, it was the middle of winter – we arrived two days before Christmas in fact. There was no snow but the streets were cold and dark and there were carry few people milling about. The only place we found them in Prenzlauerberg was in the restaurants and bars and even those were closed from midday Christmas Day. On this visit mid-summer, the street was alive with people, there was outdoor seating everywhere with patrons enjoying brunch, and there was lush foliage on the trees that framed the streets of vintage and indy stores that are Prenzlauerberg’s hallmark. These hadn’t opened yet as it was still only 9am. Given the timing of our last visit, we hadn’t actually met our hosts. We retrieved our keys from the lock box when we arrived and deposited them on our departure.

This time we were warmly greeted and shown to our apartment, just as we had expected it to be – A simple old school East Berlin bedsit apartment with a few modern touches – a great kitchen, plenty of space to sprawl and a quiet homey feel. The apartment on the first floor, like many similar apartments in the area had windows that opened into the central courtyard – while the view below was to the garbage collection area, the windows and the slightly more reasonable temperatures allowed us to sleep with fresh air and birdsong through the open windows. The windows themselves were similar to those a friend has installed in his beautifully renovated terrace in Sydney – double glazed and opening in two directions on a 10 degree plane to the window with the opening to the top to allow airflow in but maintain security and wide open on a hinge like a door.

Dan had a bit of a snooze while I did some essential washing to keep us going. I remembered where the waschsalon was and indeed how the system there worked. Of course it was complicated by the assistant who didn’t seem to understand that I would prefer to lose a Euro in the machine that didn’t return money than use a dryer with only a hot setting to dry my bras, shirred back sundresses and quick dry travel gear. Eventually I came to an arrangement with an older kiwi lady (who didn’t seem to care if her clothes shrank if it would get her out of the laundromat quicker. Clothes done I headed back to the apartment to get Dan up so he didn’t end up sleeping the whole day away. (What’s the matter with parents today – NOFX – a song that reminds me of what I fear most… that young folks at the shows I go to will look at me and think what the hell is that sad old person doing here? Wrinkles don’t worry me (too much) and I found my first grey hair at 16. It is the expectation that I am required to be an adult when I get old and stop doing the things I love that scares me. For the wreck chord, Fat Mike is older than me)

Arrivederci Venezia

DSCN3449We had planned the next morning to head out really early and catch Venice out – to find the streets deserted and bask in the glow of the sunrise. Unfortunately by the time we awoke and got moving it was after 8am. We still saw a very different side to Venice though. Along the canal, the barges delivering supplies to the city’s many shops and restaurants were pulling into unload while yesterday’s rubbish is piling up along the waterways awaiting collection. And the bilge barges are pumping out blocked pipes and drains throughout the cities ancient sewer systems. The tourist strip was largely devoid of tourists at this time of day but there were plenty of workers pouring into the city to ready things for the thousands that were about to arrive.

Today was still hot but much, much cooler than yesterday. Probably early 30s. Dan was still feeling under the weather so we decided the best approach was to catch a ferry up the grand canal to San Marco so we could see all the buildings on the side of the canal and get that feeling of the grand tour that the canal alone seems to provide, maybe because I have watched far too many travel shows about the grand tour of t the early 20th century. We wandered up to the train terminal to catch the ferry past closed street stalls and shops only to find a plenty of people trying to crowd onto the ferry. As we made our way onto the platform, it became obvious that the ferry was going to be a lot more crowded than we envisaged. We got on anyway and found ourselves pushed into the back section.

One of the crazy things about Venice, which is basically a mass of stone and concrete with nary a tree in sight is that the cabins in the ferries are close to the hottest place on the islands. If you manage to stand near a window you get a bit of a breeze as the ferry jest its way along the canal but the main windows don’t open. On one of the smaller ferries, where the ferry sits much lower in the water and the cabin is just above the water level, the splash from the ferry pulling into the jetty and the waves caused by the activity on the lagoon meant that water splashed in the higher top to, we were free to stand on the window that open like those on the bus. The best place to stand on a ferry is on the deck where they open the sides to let people off or on the stairs to the upper deck at the front of smaller ferries. After the hordes of workers got off the ferry at Rialto, we were free to stand on the deck and enjoy the view. While limiting the number of bridges makes it really difficult to get from one side of the canal to the other, it also makes for a beautiful view as the ferry chugs its way out into the lagoon and San Marco Square. Watching the water lap at the front doors of homes and palaces along the waterway, stairs long since engulfed by the rising waters of the lagoon is a calming sight You can’t help wonder what is going on behind the closed doors and secret gardens I guess that is part of the mystery of Venice, there are no front gardens, so everything is going on behind closed doors. (The Harder They Come – H-Block 101 – these guys remain one of my favourite Australian punk bands – dedicated to their craft and the political stance they take – more serious and non-assuming than most of the 90s breed of punks, they take their cues from the likes of Radio Birdman and The Clash rather than the Fat Wreck Chords phenomenon.)

We arrived in San Marco Square to see vendors opening up their stalls on the side of the canal, tour guides giving the low down to the groups and queues forming for the museums in the square. The square itself though was strangely empty, no one sitting in the café and only a dozen or so people standing in the square not in a queue. From here, we wound our wayback along the tourist path and collected a snow globe – one with a gondola in it not one in a gondola, and some postcards. When we got closer to the hotel we decided to wander through the back street of Carneggio and checkout the tiny island of the Ghetto – the Jewish area of Venice which stood up and defended Venice from those who wanted to destroy it. The ghetto was particularly interesting from a people watching point of view. A number of Hassidic Jews were milling around in the central square. There was a temple and also a number of kosher restaurants and a bakery. We navigated our way back through the alleyways and out through a different gateway onto our canal. By this stage it was 10am so we headed back to the hotel for breakfast. It had already gotten quite hot so we decided to take our time getting ready in the comfort of the hotel’s air-conditioning before heading to the train station.

Dan sat in the (relative) cool of the train station while I headed back along the shopping strip for a couple of last minute souvenirs – a mask, Murano glass pendant and glass Christmas ornaments. I also picked up some baguettes, cannoli, chips and water for the six hour train trip. I also had my first good coffee on this trip – a Café Latte.

The trains are a good way to demonstrate the differences between German and Italian culture. In Germany they can tell you a month in advance which platform a train will leave from. Each day there is a yellow poster put up throughout the station that shows all departures from the station, their destinations and intermittent stops, and platforms. There are also diagrams of where on the platform your carriage will stop. On some rare occasions the cars might be back to front and you need to make a mad dash for the right car. You usually have quite a few minutes if this happens and it is fairly easy to move between carriages. In Italy there are no diagrams or lists. The departure time will go on a board an hour or so before the departure and if you are lucky, the platform will go up 10 minutes before the train leaves. On my first trip to Europe, the platform number for my first Italian train in Milan went up less than five minutes before departure. Here we had 15. (Get your filthy hands off my dessert – Pink Floyd – Like most of Pink Floyd’s tunes, the title belies the lyrics – this is a little upbeat politically aware ditty. I didn’t like Pink Floyd much in my teens as they were so damn depeessing– save for Another Brick in the Wall which I had enjoyed as a roller skating accompaniment in the early 80s and which wasa lot more angry like the punk I learnt to love years later. I rediscovered Pink Floyd in the 90s and while there is a lot that still doesn’t grab me I can understand the allure.)

We got on the train, put our bags up and settled into our carriage, hoping that it wouldn’t be quite as full as the last. About 10 minutes late a quite stern old German lady came in with what looked like her grandson – it turned out she was just a youngster she had paid to carry her bags on to the train. Instead of taking her sat near Dan she jagged the window seat (which had a reservation) and pulled out the other seat to put her feet up. She was very annoyed when the girl who was in her feet seat entered the carriage. Dan helped the girl with her bags and it turns out she was a German who grew up in Australia and moved back to Germany. She had gone back after uni and then returned again a couple of times. This time she had been in Germany, living in Munich, for 12 years. She had been to Venice for a wedding of all things. Weddings really seem to be making more of a splash in my life. She was really lovely and we started chatting. The old lady had enough of that and moved to a less crowded compartment. Another man joined us for a few stops through the Austrian Alps but mostly it was us and our new found German-Australian friend, incidentally from Perth. It turned out the wedding she attended was two Australian friends (although he was born in Italy) and that she may have had a romantic evening with a kiwi who was at the wedding.

We had noticed a number of policemen on the train at different intervals and about half an hour out of Munich, an announcement came over that the plane was delayed for a police investigation – I wondered whether something had been stolen on the train. Eventually we arrived at München Ost, where we were to catch the night train to Berlin,

When I had booked the reservations it hadn’t let me select the main station, despite the fact that both trains went through there. The other unfortunate reality was that München Ost had very limited dining options (and there was no dining car on the train). It had already been quite a long day of travelling and the prospect of another 10 hours on a train was looming. The train was already on the platform but it had to be done. As I was still moving fairly slowly with my strapped broken foot, I was left in charge of the bags while Dan headed down to the station to purchase what turned out to be pretty awful reheated pizza slices. Once those were consumed, he hightailed it to the other platform to get some water and snacks for the journey.

As it turned out we were both too busy coughing throughout the night to need the snacks (or to sleep very much). It was a pity because we both usually sleep really well on trains (while neither of us are able to sleep on planes.) This was the first time we had travelled on the trains in summer – like much of Germany’s infrastructure they are toasty warm in winter but the temperature usually doesn’t require too much in the way of air-conditioning. Of course we had managed to travel through Germany during the worst European heatwave in quite some time. There was air-con on the train but it only really got going while the train was moving. Unfortunately this meant it was stinking hot when you got on – there was a window – like an old bus style window – that could be opened but this meant the blind had to be up. Sounds reasonable except that you can’t really dry yourself in the shower and while the train only stopped at a few train stations, there is less time between German train stations with packed platforms late at night than one might think. In the morning we received the prepacked brekky of roll, brioche, liverwurst, cream cheese, jam and two really awful coffees. I ate the roll and drank half a coffee while Dan spent the last half hour before we arrived in Berlin sleeping. Lucky I had booked our apartment to book in when we arrived – principally because the minimum booking is four nights and we really like these apartments. (Cattle and Cane – The Go Betweens – One of a handful of songs that really speaks to me of Australia – like Wide Open Road, the tune speaks of Australia’s wide open skies and never ending countryside and no matter how good a time I am having while travelling, it always makes me feel a little homesick.)

Things that lovers do

DSCN3334We took our time to get up and went downstairs to enjoy breakfast in the hotel garden. It’s one of the things I really like about Venice – the idea of the secret garden. There are no public parks in Venice. The community comes together in the squares that open out from cramped alleyways in the middle of nowhere to provide generous spaces between the buildings. But the squares are all paved and generally there’s not even a potted tree in sight. Yet the palaces and private residences of the rich and famous often have lush garden behind locked gates. You get a glimpse of them as you pass by on the canals but they rarely face out onto squares or streets. So I was enchanted by the idea of a Venetian hotel with a garden. The breakfast was the same kind of restaurant breakfast fare we had become used to with a couple of differences – The bacon was really finely sliced and the fat was see through when cooked and the scrambled eggs tasted like they were made with cream, There were stacks of cherry tomatoes. And there were pastries – chocolate, jam and cream filled croissants. Disappointingly, my cappuccino (there are no flat whites here) tasted like it came from a Nespresso machine. The other strange thing about cappuccinos here is that they don’t come with a chocolate dusting.

After breakfast it was time to start exploring. Given we had already been to Rialto, it was going to be 36 degrees and Dan was still feeling sick, I decided it would be good to catch the ferry from just outside our hotel to San Marco. I had expected the ferry would go up our canal and then turn left into the Grand Canal to San Marco, which sits on the edge of the main cluster of islands that face out into the lagoon. It turned right instead and went around the outside of the island cluster to San Marco, virtually avoiding the Grand Canal altogether. What we did get to see were the airport, the parking station and the industrial area. Dan got to see a tank parked on the side of the canal and the replacement barges for the ferry stations. One thing that seems to happen quite quickly in Venice is that barnacles and algae grow on anything that doesn’t move. You see them on the ferry stations, on the stairs to people’s houses and on boats moored along the lagoon. (Feel the Pain – Dinosaur Jr – Dinosaur Jr are a band of the 90s that you often forget about but when you really pay them some attention the brilliance of J. Mascis becomes obvious. I have seen these guys a few times in the past 20 years and every show always turns out to be a reunion of sorts with many of the old crew in attendance.)

San Marco Square was so full of people, it was hard to move. There were quite a few standing in queues for various sights including Doge’s Palace but plenty more just milling around. Curiously there were very few people sitting down in the square’s cafes. Perhaps the warning that you will have to mortgage your house to sit and drink a coffee in the square has finally tipped the balance to the point where the cafes just aren’t getting any business at all. The square is a must see in Venice of course but it has lost its gravitas with the trappings of tourism – touts, tacky souvenirs, oversized queues and the throng of humanity, cameras at the ready. Where you see the real Venice, and the lives of its citizens is exploring the back alleyways and getting lost.

No time for that now though – It was back along the well-trodden path Per Rialto – and between Rialto and San Marco, where every visitor to Venice walks, you’ll find the incredibly high end stores such as Gucci and Versace nestled amongst the endless supply of tourist tatt. Needless to say I didn’t venture in here. From Rialto we wound our way back to the hotel and chilled out for a while in the hotel. Dan’s cold had gotten the better of him and he stayed in the hotel to snooze while I went out to explore.

First stop was the shoe shop – the Clarks store up near Rialto – Dan hates show shopping so this was a good opportunity – and I found the patent T-bar flats I had coveted in Dubai in my size – in wide fit. It was meant to be. One of the great things about shoe shopping in Italy, Germany and Scandinavia is that many of the shoes are designed for wide feet. At a wide size 41 I can never buy pretty shoes in Asia.

Shoe purchase made, it was time to explore some of the back streets and small canals of Carneggio between Rialto and our hotel near The Ghetto. The tight lane ways totally in darkness weaved their way through the tightly packed building opening out suddenly onto a sunlit square where washing was hanging from the windows or abruptly ending at a cabal where there were two choices – over the bridge or a sharp right turn down into another alleyway squirreling off into the distance. For much of this journey I didn’t see a soul. This was suburban Venice – quiet and sleepy with nary a gondolier in sight. It was in one of these streets – quite close to our hotel that I found Venice’s Michelin-starred restaurant – Osteria Anice Stellato. I got incredibly excited about this discovery until I realised it was closed on Mondays. I kept wandering the back streets but it was starting to heat up and all the pathways along the bigger waterways seemed to be on the sunny side. I headed back into the more convoluted path of the smaller passageways using my map as some kind of guidance. GPS is often slow to work here because the laneways are so small it is impossible for satellites to get a fix. Eventually I navigated my way through, emerging onto our canal through a non-descript archway, I had passed many times before. (Witchita Lineman – The Clouds – this is a fab version of the country classic with much more bass).

Originally we had planned to head to the beach in Lido but it is quite a journey and to make it worthwhile we really needed to spend the whole afternoon. By this stage it was already 3pm so I suggested to Dan that getting out of the room would do him some good. The ferry right outside our front door went to Lido so we caught it to get a view of the lagoon, and to catch some of the sea breeze by standing on the stairs to the cabin. Lido was practically a ghost town on my last visit but in the sweltering heat it seemed where most Venetians had escaped. We hopped off the ferry and found a gelato store where we could chill for a while before heading back. I also took the opportunity to try a spritz – as per the recommendation of a couple of friends who had left Venice a day before our arrival. I understand there are a couple of different versions – I am pretty sure from the orange hue that this particular specimen was the Campari based one. From the taste I am pretty sure the spritz is a traditional wine spritzer (white wine and mineral water) with the addition of Campari. Now I have to confess that Campari is not one of my fave liqueurs and this just tasted bitter to me – not the way you’d expect something bright orange with a slight fizz to taste. The gelato wasn’t much good either. On the plus side, I was drinking my spritz sitting in a swing so that did add to the 1950s holiday feel of the whole thing – I just needed to procure one of the big sunhats I had seen on sale everywhere. (Bullying the Jukebox – Bouncing Souls – I bet a jukebox under the control of Bouncing Souls would be really cool. Back in the day I had an old Bouncing Souls work shirt – back in the day when it was cool to wear such things. Can’t give up the skate shoes (or Doc Martens) I wore with it though.)

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By the time we got back on the ferry it was around 7pm so we went up to change and ventured out to dinner. Dan had promised me a nice dinner out in Venice and despite the Michelin starred restaurant being closed, I had found two other suitable alternatives both within a few hundred metres of each other. The trick was to find them as they were buried in the centre of Carneggio, one in a square and one near a small canal. We navigated our way successfully to the first -Ostaria Boccadoro – a traditional Osteria long praised in Venice and then found the second – a more edgy establishment noted as an up and comer. It was a hot night and the up and comer, as you might expect was a fairly small place and quite crowded. While it was close to a canal, all the seating was inside. We thought it might be a bit close and less enjoyable on this incredibly warm evening so we headed back to the square. Sitting outside in what was obviously a residential square felt like you were experiencing the real romance of Venice. This was the only restaurant on the square and the other diners were your only company.

Lagoon seafood is the staple item on Venetian menus and this was no different. The special appetizer they were offering was a selection of raw lagoon seafood with various pickles and things. While I was keen to sample the local seafood I had been in a boat on the lagoon and wasn’t trusting eating it raw. I chose the steamed clams and mussels which came steamed in butter- some of the clams weren’t much bigger than pipis but they were sweet, juicy and delicious. My recent fancy dinners with Dan seem to end up being in seafood focussed restaurants (Rockpool) where there are few options for those who prefer their dinner to have come from the land. Here Dan chose a mixed platter of cheeses. At the recommendation of our waiter, we chose a bottle of local white from the menu and it was a pretty decent drop. (Whip it – Devo – one of the greatest tracks of the early 80s- save for all the punk and ska I discovered later – Devo were a Countdown band in 1992 but they deserve far more kudos than that label implies.)

Dan and I have long mused about serving bread in a restaurant – it is a fairly cheap item and ensures those with huge appetites leave the restaurant feeling satisfied. On the other hand, when the bread is really good, you risk the temptation of filling up on it. And I love bread, which makes Germany a treat as they have some of the best bread (sourdough, rye, wholegrain) in the world. One thing we have noticed in our culinary escapades is that you can tell a top restaurant by the quality of the bread and the fact they continue to serve it throughout the meal. Here there was a mixed selection of ciabatta, wholegrain and rye breads and they kept coming. The second course of an Italian meal is pasta – Dan played it safe and chose the veal strips and tomato spaghetti. I was a bit more adventurous and went for the black ink spaghetti with clams and artichokes, which was thoroughly delicious. It’s not often that you find a menu peppered with fresh ingredients such as artichokes so that was particularly enjoyable. We probably didn’t need a third course but we had it anyway – I continued with my seafood theme and enjoyed John Dory (which I assume probably wasn’t lagoon caught) on potato with artichokes and salad. – Dan chose the slow cooked veal cheeks with herbs, which he said didn’t really taste like herbs – just like a really good beef roast – of course our beef roasts are usually marinated with garlic and rosemary. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The air was warm and fairly still save for a small breeze through the alleyways every now and then but it was enough to make for a pleasurable dining experience and sitting in the square as it darkened overhead and you looked up to the night sky made you appreciate the romance of Venice. (Minstrel Boy – Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros – The outfit Joe spent most time with before his untimely death over a decade ago is not what you’d expect from the punk troubadour but this tune in particular does have the hallmarks of him having spent too much time with the Irish – a cross between a Pogues song and Enya in a good way, with jazz drumming this evokes the feel of the seafarers of all and seems somewhat appropriate.)

After dinner, we headed for the Grand Canal to find a gondola. Sure gondolas are an expensive way to get about – 80 euros during the day and 100 at night for about half an hour. And yes, there is an element of kitsch to the gondola (not least of all because you can actually buy a gondola that has a snow globe of a gondolier sitting in it) but there is still something romantic about cruising Venice’s canals with a whistling gondolier. It is also an awesome way to get a very different perspective on the city. Travelling up the main canals on a ferry doesn’t give you the ground level look at the buildings a gondola does – the appreciation of how the lagoon is enveloping the city. It is clear from this angle that if the water rises a centimetre, the streets are flooded in some areas. The gondolier took us along the main canal and then into the back waterways, pointing out various landmarks on the way such as the place where Marco Polo lived in Venice. Dan had pointed out earlier in the day that Venice, a city of waterways and seafarers, holds Marco Polo in quite high regard but Marco Polo walked to China. After a while the gondolier got the message that we weren’t really interested in the history lesson so he did this strange combination of singing, whistling and humming. On our journey through the dark canals, I thought we were going to total a number of boats along the way but the gondolier skilfully moved the gondola centimetres to avoid them ducking as he went under the low canal bridges. At one point we passed a gondola full of young Americans and the other gondolier asked ours what English swear words he knew. In the dead calm of the Venice night he said only one word – Fuck. And then the silence was filled with laughter from both boats. From the back canals, the gondolier rounded the turn back into the light of the Grand Canal and there resplendent in front of us was the Rialto Bridge lit up like a Christmas Tree. Our ride ended on the other side and we made our way across the bridge and back towards our hotel. Last time I was in Venice I was alone and while I had a nice dinner on the canal and met a really interesting Mexican woman, I hadn’t enjoyed a high end romantic dinner or a gondola ride because I thought they would be best enjoyed with someone else one day when I returned. And they were. The only downside was that the hole in the wall Gelato place was closed on our walk home. (Down to Sea – Doves – Many of their tracks evoke dreamy summer evenings and this one in particular reminds me of summery winter nights in Byron Bay at Splendour in the Grass.)

The Merchants of Venice

DSCN3224Rested and cooled, we decided to venture out into the evening twilight to have a look around – the day tripping tourists had left and while the place was still busy, you could wander the streets and alleyways without feeling like you were going to be bowled over. I was actually a bit surprised – my first trip to Venice had been in winter – February) when the streets are a lot quieter during the day. It was Carnivale though so Venice partied into the night. Admittedly this was a Sunday evening but I thought Venice would have been jumping. The northern twilight (while it didn’t last quite as late in Italy) made Venice pretty special in the early evening. The subtle light set off the canals beautifully and yet another myth was busted – it didn’t stink – except of the ocean when a breeze blew through from the canals.

Our first stop was on the canal near our hotel for some of the best gelato I have ever tasted – I had limone and Dan had chocolate. It was a little hole in the wall establishment, like many that you find in Venice. We wandered along the canal eating our gelato in the most Venetian of traditions – I even had a 50s style strappy sundress on that made me feel like I was in Roman Holiday or something.

We wandered along the well-trodden path to the Rialto Bridge, passing street vendors selling, masks, Murano glass, tons of crap with gondolas on it and all manner of hats. The closer you get to Rialto, the more expensive the shops get – curb side marketeers turned into the Disney shop and high end Italian retailers. I did spy one or two shoe shops that I was keen to revisit the next day. I know, I know – you don’t go to Venice for the shopping but there were sales…

One day I’ll go on holiday and not get sick. Travelling with a fractured foot clearly wasn’t enough. Since our second day in Dubai I have been battling a cold- I thought I was losing my voice the day before the wedding – it held out but it is still quite raspy and punctuated by an impossible to get rid of cough. And of course by the time we arrived in Venice I had shared the love with Dan so he was getting tired and was keen to have some dinner and call it a night. (The State of Massachusetts – Dropkick Murphys – A rollicking tune that could well have been written in Ireland in the 1800s, is actually a modern tale of struggle in modern-day Boston)

It was then we broke the two golden rules of dining in Venice. Don’t eat anywhere on the popular tourist route, especially anywhere close to Rialto Bridge or San Marco Square. And don’t eat anywhere with laminated menus. And those rules held true – Dan had an underwhelming lasagne and I had seafood pasta with the world’s tiniest prawns that had obviously been frozen in a block of freshwater ice which had left them with no taste whatsoever. Lucky it was cheap (even though they add a service charge to the bill to stop tight-arsed Australians (and probably I’m guessing Russians) from scrooging on the tip. Although the Italian girl behind us clearly didn’t think it was cheap enough. She had a ten minute argument with the waiter about what she was going to pay. I think she just wore him down in the end. The entertainment over, we headed back to our luscious hotel room and planned a generous sleep in.

Run to the Hills

DSCN3201 - CopyGerman city night line trains are a great way to save time when travelling. We always book the first class cabin with shower and toilet – now don’t get too excited – this is not five star accommodation by any means – One person has to climb up the ladder to get to the top bunk. The shower/ toilet combo has a basin that swings over the toilet so you can use the shower and vice versa. You also have a button to press that operates the shower for about a minute at a time. And the breakfast, like most train food) is nothing to write home about – a pre-packaged brioche, stale roll with liverwurst or jam and an awful coffee. But you do get to sleep lying down and cover a distance that on a high speed Ice train would take at least five hours during the day.

I booked almost all of our train passes and reservations online this trip, except for the Euro City train from Munich to Venice, which I had to book through Rail Europe and have mailed to me. Unfortunately they didn’t have reservations available for the directly connecting train so we had to spend four hours in Munich after a night on the train. Dan wasn’t feeling so well so we first wandered to the park and sat for a while. It looked like a (slightly prettier) Darwin Park, with homeless people camped out across the lawns. We saw the polizei dealing with some kind of dispute and decided to head back toward the tourist information centre to see if there was somewhere nearby to look at. Unfortunately as it was Sunday, they didn’t open until 10am, only a short while before our departure just after 11. We tried to jag entry to the Deutsche Bahn first class lounge but apparently as we were foreigners travelling on a pass, we were only entitled to entry to the foreigners section which was a bunch of chairs in a filthy and hot lino floored room. We headed to the coke café where they serve coke and ice cream. I just had a water. After the tourist bureau opened and I picked up the information brochures, we discovered the BMW museum was in Munich. Needless to say Dan was a bit disappointed we weren’t staying. (Stain – Narco Wendy – the garage band our friends put together in the early 90s (originally called the Killer Dolphins) – this is one of their best tunes – recorded, available on Canberra compilation Legoland Strikes Back and performed at the (now well defunct) Terminus Bar.)

It turns out the Munich to Venice tickets were in a six seat compartment where all the other tickets were sold – the people were nice – an American couple on what appeared to be their first (well researched) trip to Venice and a German couple who travel every second year for the Biennale – but it was quite close and felt a bit crowded. What you do get to do on this route is pass through the Alps, in this case through Austria. Last time I had travelled from Germany to Italy I went through Switzerland and it was in the winter. The Alp[s look very different in the summer – although the houses look exactly like you see in fairy tales, the lush green grass, various fruit trees growing on the hillsides and the occasional mountain blooms were a new treat in the warm, snowless summer – although there was still a dusting of snow on some of the higher peaks. Then there was the mountain summer resort with visitors lazing around a pool in bikinis with pool toys – not the sort of summer activity you find in the Australian Alps at all. When we neared Italy and the scenery got less impressive, I spent some time in the dining car, enjoying a coffee and some peace and blogging. The compartment really wasn’t conducive to blogging as only the window seats (which we didn’t have) were equipped with power and tables. The American couple by the window were happy to have our chargers plugged in though. The train stopped in the middle of nowhere about an hour out of Venice. Our compartment mates speculated that it was because of the overuse of the brakes coming down the mountain and the fact that it was such a hot day. The locals all came out of their houses to watch what was going on. Eventually the train got moving again and we arrived in sweltering Venice. We decided to forgo the crowded Vaporetto (ferry) and walk to the hotel with our rolling luggage – it was quite simple and direct to get there (highly unusual for Venice where the well-worn path to the Rialto Bridge and San Marco square are signposted on the wall every 100 metres or so. Of course that was after we negotiated the Indian porters with their carts and the multitude of Italians trying to sell you some ticket or other. The rumour about rolling luggage being banned – google told us so – but it was very hot on the journey to our fairly swish hotel – the Carnival Palace and when the doors opened we were greeted with wet towels, a smile and a burst of air-conditioning. (Home – Skunkhour – a bit of a traveller’s tale about returning home after too long – not really how I feel after less than two weeks away but I haven’t heard this track in a decade or so and forgot how much I actually like Skunkhour – doing that funky thing before it was a thing.)

The room lived up to the photos which was fabulous (and largely unexpected. It was a four star hotel but the beautiful large marble bathroom with oversized walk-in shower and bidet, some five star touches like slippers and large bath towels, and a few luxe finishes and some flair made it feel like a luxury suite. After our long journey, we chilled out in the room to prepare for an evening out amongst it.

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Lazing on a sunny afternoon

DSCN3072We decided a bit of a sleep in was in order followed by breakfast on the deck of our hotel (with sunglasses, coffee and plenty of water). Then it was time for a leisurely stroll to the mall to grab a USB for the wedding videos and to check out the sandcastle building comp in the square outside the hotel. The first one was a sandcastle of the Burj al Arab, the Dubai landmark that keeps featuring in my life. There are a number of odd places that seem to have a repeating presence in my life – Goulburn, Germany and the Burj Al Arab (needless to say I appreciate the second two more than the first). We discovered a produce. Market in the town square and wandered through marvelling at all the different deli items on sale. Dan was beside himself when he found a cart selling sugar coated cashews.

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We went back to the room, packed up all our stuff and missed the train that would get us back to the home of our gracious hosts by 2pm as promised. We arrived about 3pm or so by the time we pulled our luggage from the station to our hosts’ abode. The main purpose of the afternoon gathering was to spend some relaxed time together after the big day but it also served as a way to consume some of the many leftovers from the wedding (including quite a collection of beer). It was then time for some street cricket. In true Aussie barbecue style, it was mostly the men who ventured out into the heat to throw a plastic cricket ball at plastic stumps, while the women (sensibly) stayed inside in the cool. A nice afternoon was had by all and once things started to fade, we bid our farewell, with a lift to the station from one of our hospitable hosts, and continued on our journey to Duisburg to meet the midnight train to Munich. (The Punch Line – Mighty Mighty Bosstones – the gentlemen of ska (and one of Boston’s best exports) are always good for a late night listen. And a good dose of skanking when you see them live.)

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Nice day for a white wedding

DSCN3125The wedding day was always going to be about the wedding and in order to get there by train we had to leave the hotel by around 11am. That meant the hotel breakfast with bottomless coffee to get over the 3am phone call and time to get ready. I now understand why Australia’s foreign minister Julie Bishop requests an iron and ironing board in her rider. Our quite comfortable hotel room that looked like it was designed to host business guests didn’t come with an iron and for some reason it seemed to be the most difficult thing we asked for. Eventually Dan got his shirt ironed and we headed off to the train station. About 200 metres down the road I realised I had left my phone with the deutsche bahn train app and the GPS in the room. Dan went back to get it. Unfortunately we didn’t discover until we were at the train station that the battery for Dan’s camera was also in the room.

A short wait at the train station in Dülmen and a kilometre stroll and we arrived at Renaissanceburg Lüdinghausen, the venue for the wedding. It was easy to see why they had chosen the venue – A castle set on an island surrounded by a moat and lots of greenery. Now that’s definitely not something you see at an Australian wedding – a castle! Not a real one anyway – I imagine members of Medieval societies probably find old sandstone buildings to act as appropriate backdrops for photos and have their actual wedding in a park. Of course this wedding wasn’t themed (even though a few star wars references made their way into the ceremony.

This is the first German wedding I have attended (despite having been invited to one in Bonn many moons ago when I could barely afford to go to Yass for such an event). This one was very traditional (unlike, I imagine the Bonn one to have been). I was looking forward to the experience. The arrival of the bride and groom on foot across the moat was quite beautiful and there was no traditional giving away o the bride. I didn’t have a chance to ask whether that was tradition or just a choice. The civil ceremony itself was quite different to similar weddings in Australia. The personal part was lovely and the celebrant said a few words about the bride and groom and about marriage. The bride and groom said I do (only once and then they kissed and we thought it would be all over but no. The officious German registry office meant that they both had to agree to about a million clauses in the wedding contract that seemed to mostly about whether or not the bride changed her name and this involved repeating their dates of birth and where they lived about two or three times. It was the first bilingual wedding the celebrant had conducted but I don’t think that was what made the ceremony feel so officious. Like all weddings though it was a chance for the bride and groom to declare their love for each other and make a promise to each other and it was truly heartfelt. (Wonderful Life – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – The gothic overtones of Nick Cave often mean that the undying love and devotion that is at the core of many of the band’s tunes is lost. Like this beautiful number that somehow feels appropriate to listen to while writing about a wedding.)

When the guests left the room where the wedding was conducted, they were handed a white heart shaped balloon and asked to attach an addressed message to it with the how that it would be taken away on the wind and when it landed, be returned to the bride and groom. We all stood together and let the balloons go and they floated away like a hundred heart shaped clouds against the blue sky. Like an Australian wedding, it was then time for the guests to be kept busy between the ceremony and the reception. There was champagne served to celebrate the nuptials but also (because it is Germany) it was time for coffee and cake, which included plates of cookies and the cutting of the wedding cake – a task usually left until the end of an Australian wedding when everyone is so full of booze that the last thing they want is fruit cake with marzipan. The cake had three different layers – one of which was a German style cheesecake – perfect!

After photos, it was time for the reception. Many of the elements of the reception were the same as a traditional Australian wedding, like the heartfelt speeches with just a touch of humour (the Australian ones of course but there was a touch of humour in the German ones as well). In order to ensure all guests experienced the speeches without the need for an interpreter on hand, the speeches were translated into German or English as needed. And like most weddings, there were the tablemates you didn’t know before the wedding. In this case, cousins of the bride and their young kids – one from Berlin and another (and her husband) who run a local dairy farm. The bride had overestimated my rudimentary German skills but fortunately our tablemates spoke English well and made a real effort to ensure we felt included in the conversation. (Josie – Blink182 – One of my favourite pop punk ditties about love. Blink really encapsulate teenage love into three minutes and very few words.)

The menu (which featured a star wars photo where the bride and groom’s heads had been photo shopped in to replace Luke and Leia and their fur child to replace Chewbacca) was where the two traditions met. The first course – Wedding Soup, served in a tureen from the table is a traditional German wedding first course. It is like a chicken and vegetable consume with white cheese cubes and what appeared to be a gnocchi like pasta. It was delicious. The main course was a buffet that included German-style roast beef and gravy, chicken and pork schnitzel, kangaroo fillet, creamed potatoes, fried potatoes, carrots and greens, a salad with the most delectable yoghurt dressing ever and a range of vegetarian options. There was more food than could be eaten. But it was definitely worth waiting for the traditional dessert – Gentleman’s crème – a lush light creamy mousse with flecks of chocolate and rum. It was accompanied by a more traditional Australian chocolate mousse. The meal was finished with an aperitif. A traditional one in a glass – 40 per cent proof and really bitter – what I had and little bottles of other spirits – which Dan had. Wine (red and white) and beer was served throughout the afternoon and evening and imbibed heartily by all.

After the dinner and speeches, the bride changed and she and the groom emerged for their dance – it started as a traditional waltz but quickly turned into a more modern dance they had choreographed. Apparently this has become a bit of a tradition in German weddings. Hopefully it won’t catch on in Australia – way too ambitious for my dancing ability. The dancing ability of the guests was tested later on when all Australians were requested to dance to AC/DC – now head banging is a dance style I have mastered (well maybe not mastered…) My broken foot planted firmly on the ground, I did manage to move to the music a bit and (reluctantly) remained on the dancefloor for the Men at Work (not so) classic complete with million dollar kookaburra flute riff. To reward ourselves for dancing, or not, a fabulous cheese course was served. Not that I needed to eat anything more but it was one of the biggest and most delectable spread of cheeses I had ever seen.

It was a beautiful day and a fabulous evening but we bid the bride and groom farewell and headed off into the night around midnight before our coach turned back into a pumpkin (or at least before the last train left the station). After a ten minute train ride, we sat at the platform at Dülmen for about 45 minutes but despite the late hour on the open air platform at a non-attended station felt completely safe. In fact I think we were more at risk of being blown away by the freight trains passing us at a couple of hundred kilometres an hour. When we arrived back in Münster, it was amazing how many people we saw riding their bike home from a night out at 2am in the morning – I really need to get bike fit so I can do the same. (Spell – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – a beautiful tune about falling in love.)

We come from a land down under

DSCN3106Dan rose early and went for a jog around the trail we had seen the day before – to add another destination to his world tour of runs. He said it was a really pleasant run because of the shade but the previous days’ rain, the leaf litter was very mulch like and also very slippery. No injuries, although the floor was covered in muddy footprints. We had a fairly relaxed day starting with a simple breakfast from a bakery on the side of the plaza – the Germans love bread and whole grain and rye bread in particular and these bakeries provide a very cheap (and delicious) way to start or end the day (or indeed interrupt it for lunch. Our breakfast cost less than 10 euros and included a delectable egg sandwich a cherry Danish, a hotdog baked in a roll, a second hot pastry, coke, coffee and bottled water! Though carb laden – what German meal isn’t – it felt healthier and fresher than the other breakfast we had been eating. These days I am almost proficient at using German wasch salons but this one actually came with a helper to provide the washing powder and help you with the machine – only problem was she spoke only German which actually made everything harder. Eventually we got there and also got the washing done. Incidentally, the wasch salon had also caught the hipster infestation with its own palette furniture out the front.

After a suitably relaxed wander around town in the afternoon, we jumped a train to Dülmen, a little village not far from Münster. The purpose of our trip (or at least the excuse for it was a wedding. A long-time friend was marrying his German fiancé and we couldn’t help but come to Germany to experience a real German wedding. In keeping with the theme of the wedding (and the marriage really) the bride-to-be’s parents invited all the freeloading Australians who had travelled to their home for a barbecue – a German barbecue with some of the most delectable treats ever – including a bomb – well seasoned and sauced meatloaf wrapped in bacon. This was washed down with (quite a bit) of German beer and wine. It wasn’t the food that was the star of the evening – the bride’s parents were gracious and welcoming hosts and entertained the rowdy bunch of Australians until well after 10pm. It was a pleasant evening in their beautiful home in the small village – in Australian terms more the size of a regional centre. Many of the houses in the neighbourhood were duplexes with small yards but common playground areas for children. And while they look small, most are two stories with extensive basements below. Our hosts had redecorated since their children had grown and their backyard was an entertainer’s paradise with no grass to mow but a beautiful well-tended garden full of sculptures made by our host. (Cherry Poppin’ Daddy Strut – A bit swing standard, a bit Dixieland, this is a nice surprise from the modern day officianados of swing and reminds me how much I want to visit New Orleans.

It was a pleasant evening and a nice way to meet before the big day. We bade our farewells about 10pm and caught a train back to the hotel to get a good night’s sleep. At least that was the plan. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how many times you explain that you are going overseas, there is always someone who doesn’t quite get it. I got the phone call that shouldn’t have happened at 3am and it made me a bit of a wreck for the following day.

 

Lessons in the importance of the umlaut

DSCN3107We awoke early on our last day in Frankfurt had breakfast and took a walk to the historic area. Clearly one of the main tourist traps, there was a queue of air-conditioned buses lined up along the street, a gaggle of tourist groups in the square and a couple of brash Eastern European newlyweds who drove right up to the door for photos. We took a few snaps and headed for the Arts and Culture gallery – the architecture looked more impressive from the photos – and headed back to the Hauptbahnhof to catch a train to Münster, our base for the next three days. The train wound its way back up the coast along the well-worn path of the past few days to Koblenz although this time we kept going. I got closer to the ducks of Bonn this time than ever before as we passed through the former capital on our way north. Unfortunately, even though it was bucketing down as we passed through, no actual duck sightings. It does look like quite an attractive town though. Dan was getting really excited about the one things he had planned to do – visit Germany’s biggest tank museum. When we arrived in Münster, Dan started researching how to get there and it turns out the tank museum is actually in Munster not Münster, which was about 300 km away. He did get over the disappointment after a while.

Münster on the other hand was a pretty little town – about the same population as Canberra and a heap of students as well. It was extremely pretty though. The old town had been cleaned up and modernised with luxury stores in old buildings and there are about 1001 churches throughout. There is a riding/walking track that circles much of the old town and it is like an avenue beautifully shaded with trees. There is greenery everywhere which looks fabulous against the older building. And bicycles. Münster is apparently the bicycle capital of Germany and it shows. Everywhere you look there are people getting themselves from point a to b on a city bike –young old , students, professionals and most of the old city centre isn’t accessible to cars. It is a delight to walk around in. There is very little reference to some of the sordid history of the town though – this is where the Anabaptists set up shop and were subsequently defeated but there is no sign of any of that save for the cages they were strung up in that are still attached to the church spire. (The Man at C&A – Ballistic Allshorts – while nothing can replace The Specials’ original, my fave 90s ska core outfit go a bit trad ska on this number and somehow it works.)

After checking into our quite comfortable hotel, we took a short walk around town, principally to check out some noise cancelling headphones – the Sony pair I had paid $50 for out of a vending machine at JFK had finally bitten the dust. I haven’t yet bought a replacement pair but am leaning towards the Philips offering. By this stage we had enough and decided it was time for dinner. The knowledgeable trip advisor app scored gain and pointed us in the direction of a very popular Gasthaus. The service was fabulous and the food quite exceptional. We shared entrees of delectable deep fried camembert (a secret indulgence of ours) and some locally produced salami. For mains Dan went with schnitzel (again) although this time it was veal. I had a superb dish of pork medallions with bacon and baked apple slices. Mine came with one of my fave German dishes ever – fried potatoes and Dan’s came with a warm potato salad, which tasted like it was mixed with onion and some sort of vinegar based salad dressing – not at all what I expected. The fried potatoes were fabulous though. After dinner (it was by this stage 10pm – that northern summer twilight really does fool you) we headed back to the hotel and crashed.