Having had my dose of time in the hills, I decided I would spend the final week of my time in Europe in Germany. I hadn't actually spent much time there previously, and with my, ah, appetite, for beer, I thought it would be a good place to spend some time in.
First stop was Munich. I arrived off a night train, so after dropping my bag off and getting a coffee, I found myself at the Augustiner Keller before noon. To hell with it. I was sick of sights, and I was in Germany just to wind down and try plenty of beer. So, a litre of lager and half a pork knuckle thanks. The beer was fantastic, the knuckle was sufficiently fatty and crackly, and the garden was a beautiful area.
The hostel I was in was pretty big and impersonal, so I joined a beer tour that night to be amongst company. First stop was the Schneide Weisse house, where I had an Aventinus, in my opinion one of the best (I guess that means 'my favourite') beers in the World. We did a quick tour of the Paulaner micro-brewery (as opposed to their mega-brewery) next. There's a variety of quirky laws in Munich (perhaps Bavaria) and even more long-held traditions that apply to beer. The micro-breweries that exist in the city of Munich itself (there are only three) are only allowed to sell their product on premises. Another quirk is that when the word 'brauhaus' has an umlaut (two dots) over the a, it is a brewery as opposed to somewhere that just serves beer.
The tour finished at the infamous Hofbrau haus. Literally the royal beer hall, in these democratic days it is state owned. Three beers are available: a light (in colour) and dark lager, and wheat beer. The lagers are served by the litre, which is called a 'mass'. The wheat beer in the typical tall 500mI glass. If you ask for your beer in a smaller vessel you'll probably be asked to leave, or given rude looks at best. I had the word 'stein' in my head, which translates as stone: mass is in fact the most common name for that size of beer, usually served in a glass. At festivals they typically serve all liters of beer in a stein. One thing I love about the Hofbrau haus is that something so historical is still being used in such a jovial way. Every night (I'm led to believe) the tables are populated with jolly beer drinkers, yet it's history and traditions continue, too. Above many tables is hanging a symbol, for example the German Post emblem. No table can be reserved, but when local drinkers belonging to that particular group come in, they can kick anyone off their table. They typically drink out of their own lidded stein, which has been passed down the generations and is kept on the premises in a locker type system. This costs the owner a few Euro a year, but to keep their place they need to drink there a minimum number of days a week! I love this, it's like even though the feudal system is long gone, a form of drinking royalty continues.
I ticked off another grand tradition the following morning (no, not in the same session as the night before), when I had a weisswurst and weiss beer. This has to be consumed before midday. I had it in the altmarkt in the centre of town, a really nice (albeit touristy and expensive) market area. They have a series of tables set up here, which go by the same traditions as those in the beer gardens. One is that you can bring your own food if you want, as long as you are drinking something from the nearby stalls. Also all tables are communal, so you just ask politely if you can join a group, and they give you a nod and you join them. It sounds so simple, but we could learn so much from this. In Australia, a beer garden seems to me to be merely where the smokers go to drink. The Bavarians even have a law for their beer gardens, stating that all gardens must be shaded by chestnut trees. Nice. Another really nice beer garden I visited was the Hofbrau Keller.
From Munich I caught a train to Freising, only about 20km north. From there, it's a short stroll up to Weihenstephan - home to the World's oldest brewery (1040). Aside from that title, they just happen to be one of my favourite breweries - their wheat beers are fantastic. I got to join their tour for free, as it was in German, but it was great just to see such a historic place. The technology they employ now, of course, is state of the art.
Next stop was Bamberg, which I was also visiting primarily on account of their beer culture. The city itself is a beautiful place - the entire old town is UNESCO world heritage listed. It was much more peaceful here than Munich, and I happily spent four nights.
Bamberg is a beer centre on many accounts. Most hops and malt put in Munich beers (and probably most of German brews) come from the region. It is home to one of the most famous malteries in the World, Weyermann Specialty Malts. Just in town there are EIGHT breweries. Two of these produce a beer that Bamberg is famous for - rauch (smoke) beer. A smokiness is imparted from the barley being malted over a fire of beechwood.
It certainly wasn't a party town, but for the beer lover it's a real pleasure to be able to walk between breweries and drink some beer which has travelled all of 20m from where it was brewed. Along with some hearty German fare, of course. Most of he breweries are quite old and thus housed in beautiful historic buildings, but when the weather is nice, several of them also have nice gardens.
One day there I got a train out to 'Anna fest', a festival in nearby Forcheim, with a couple of Brits. Unfortunately it was raining, but it was nice to see the locals in their element. It was a fun afternoon, but i'm against drinking beer by the litre. Its dangerous. I was much more a fan of appreciating all the different Bamberg beers at my own pace in their beautiful brew houses.
Friday, August 20, 2010
To the hills!
As mentioned, I was getting tired of cities and their offerings. I'd previously decided to make a bee-line for the hills, so I grabbed a ride with Adam and Dez aboard Norm north of Budapest, in the general direction of the Tatra mountains. We didn't make it too far before pulling up and having a tripe porkault ('goulash') for dinner. Apparently it was the only thing they were doing on the menu (it was a Sunday evening). The sauce was pretty tasty - but I tell you I'm sick of tripe; it's so bland.
We didn't make it so far the next day either - Norm was leaking oil, and the call was made to stay put and get it fixed. Ever faithful and dependant friend that I am, I dissed A&D and hit the road. A local bus took me to the border, which I then walked across into Slovakia. I hitched to the next town with a bus terminal, got another local bus to somewhere else I can't remember the name of, then managed to get on a regional bus which took me within a reasonable distance of my target. There wasn't an onward train for several hours though, so after a quick language lesson from the friendly lady at the station, I had tea across the road, before getting a train to Poprad - target reached. My good luck continued when the owners of the full hostel let me stay in their apartment, along with another ring in. They were a friendly bunch, and even after such a long and tiring day, I was happy to have a glass of Slovak white and a game of Yahzee before bed.
By the next afternoon my bag was packed and I was on my way up into the High Tatras. They're a mountain range that straddle the border between Poland and Slovakia, described in one guide I read as the most significant European range outside of the Alps. I headed up to a relatively low mountain hut for the night. Compared to unstaffed NZ alpine huts, I always find it amusing being able to purcase a hot meal and a TAP beer at these places. I saw some guys walking up to these huts wih a keg on their backs, attached by an uncomfortable looking contraption. No wonder these Eastern European countries crank out such hard alpinists.
I continued up the valley the following morning, rising out of pine forests to a beautiful elevated meadow, before another climb to a 'proper' high hut. It was hot in the sun, but the refreshment provided by the multitudes of pristine alpine meltwater is perhaps enough to thank the heat for providing such an opportunity. My path took me over and through a few valleys by means of col's, no peaks or ridges, but the surrounding terrain was quite precipitous, the distant terrain lush and green, and I was happy to be there. I ended up putting in a long hard day, in able to set myself up well for an ascent the following day: about 11hours in total. It was a nice surprise to have the company of a Czech girl for the last hour down to the hut - she'd lived in NZ for a few years.
Another relatively luxurious accomodation for the night - I even had a shower! I can't complain about the availability of grog at these places. It's incredibly refreshing to have a cold beer after a day in the sun. It's also easy to justify after a day of excercise, and I like to think that a drink or two helps the body relax and muscles recover during the night!
Next on the cards was an ascent of Rysy (2499m), which went down easily enough in the morning. Rysy lies on the Slovak/Polish border, and they have a little office up there in which I had to purchase a visa. Only kidding. Though few years previous, when things were less 'Shengened', they apparently used to monitor border crossings in the mountains.
Soon after starting my descent into Poland, some bad weather came in. The chains in place provided some piece of mind in the wet, though it also meant I was in the queue. But I was just glad to be on my way down. To my wonder, though not my surprise, plenty of people were still on their way up. Never mind that they wouldn't be able to see anything; someone had been killed by lightning just a day or two previous on an adjacent range.
Once the clouds parted way, the view was magnificent, two stunning lakes framed by steep walls either side. I was still glad to get to the hut and dry out though. It had been anoher reasonably big day, with the last half at a decent pace to get out of the rain. The hut was chockas - I hadn't realised it was so accessable. Even the Pope had been to the place! And apparently Lenin had once ascended Rysy.... I tucked into a Bigos (polish stew) and had a siesta.
The next morning I was up reasonably early and on another trail up. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and I was almost alone on the track. When I got to the little summit, I had it to myself, and enjoyed a second breakfast while admiring the views. I was back on the border, and in all directions the valleys were dotted with alpine lakes. From here I made a long descent, all the way back to a road (via another 'bigos'), then on a bus back to Poprad. I'd decided to call it after four days - not only were my knees a little sore from not being in condition, most other huts were full up. It seems in Europe it's very difficult to get away from the masses.
We didn't make it so far the next day either - Norm was leaking oil, and the call was made to stay put and get it fixed. Ever faithful and dependant friend that I am, I dissed A&D and hit the road. A local bus took me to the border, which I then walked across into Slovakia. I hitched to the next town with a bus terminal, got another local bus to somewhere else I can't remember the name of, then managed to get on a regional bus which took me within a reasonable distance of my target. There wasn't an onward train for several hours though, so after a quick language lesson from the friendly lady at the station, I had tea across the road, before getting a train to Poprad - target reached. My good luck continued when the owners of the full hostel let me stay in their apartment, along with another ring in. They were a friendly bunch, and even after such a long and tiring day, I was happy to have a glass of Slovak white and a game of Yahzee before bed.
By the next afternoon my bag was packed and I was on my way up into the High Tatras. They're a mountain range that straddle the border between Poland and Slovakia, described in one guide I read as the most significant European range outside of the Alps. I headed up to a relatively low mountain hut for the night. Compared to unstaffed NZ alpine huts, I always find it amusing being able to purcase a hot meal and a TAP beer at these places. I saw some guys walking up to these huts wih a keg on their backs, attached by an uncomfortable looking contraption. No wonder these Eastern European countries crank out such hard alpinists.
I continued up the valley the following morning, rising out of pine forests to a beautiful elevated meadow, before another climb to a 'proper' high hut. It was hot in the sun, but the refreshment provided by the multitudes of pristine alpine meltwater is perhaps enough to thank the heat for providing such an opportunity. My path took me over and through a few valleys by means of col's, no peaks or ridges, but the surrounding terrain was quite precipitous, the distant terrain lush and green, and I was happy to be there. I ended up putting in a long hard day, in able to set myself up well for an ascent the following day: about 11hours in total. It was a nice surprise to have the company of a Czech girl for the last hour down to the hut - she'd lived in NZ for a few years.
Another relatively luxurious accomodation for the night - I even had a shower! I can't complain about the availability of grog at these places. It's incredibly refreshing to have a cold beer after a day in the sun. It's also easy to justify after a day of excercise, and I like to think that a drink or two helps the body relax and muscles recover during the night!
Next on the cards was an ascent of Rysy (2499m), which went down easily enough in the morning. Rysy lies on the Slovak/Polish border, and they have a little office up there in which I had to purchase a visa. Only kidding. Though few years previous, when things were less 'Shengened', they apparently used to monitor border crossings in the mountains.
Soon after starting my descent into Poland, some bad weather came in. The chains in place provided some piece of mind in the wet, though it also meant I was in the queue. But I was just glad to be on my way down. To my wonder, though not my surprise, plenty of people were still on their way up. Never mind that they wouldn't be able to see anything; someone had been killed by lightning just a day or two previous on an adjacent range.
Once the clouds parted way, the view was magnificent, two stunning lakes framed by steep walls either side. I was still glad to get to the hut and dry out though. It had been anoher reasonably big day, with the last half at a decent pace to get out of the rain. The hut was chockas - I hadn't realised it was so accessable. Even the Pope had been to the place! And apparently Lenin had once ascended Rysy.... I tucked into a Bigos (polish stew) and had a siesta.
The next morning I was up reasonably early and on another trail up. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and I was almost alone on the track. When I got to the little summit, I had it to myself, and enjoyed a second breakfast while admiring the views. I was back on the border, and in all directions the valleys were dotted with alpine lakes. From here I made a long descent, all the way back to a road (via another 'bigos'), then on a bus back to Poprad. I'd decided to call it after four days - not only were my knees a little sore from not being in condition, most other huts were full up. It seems in Europe it's very difficult to get away from the masses.
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