Ken is traveling with us from Budapest to Antwerp. He is an integral part of our Beer Tour 2006 and a great friend. Ken has a background in media, so his writings should be a little more polished than mine.
Sept. 26 – Sipping a Westmalle Trappist Dubbel at the Eleventh Commandment Pub, Antwerp …
It's hard to believe that my three weeks with Val and Eric are nearly complete. Soon we get on trains headed in opposite directions.
Our Band of Beer Brethren – or should I say, Beer “Gentlemen” as the ‘T Pakhuis waitress did to Val? – have already begun to scatter. Chandra and Paul left for the States this morning. Dave and I head from Amsterdam tomorrow. Scott will be “home” (a relative term at this point in his life) on Thursday. Our Oktoberfest chums Dana and JoeJim have been back in Chicago for a week. Val and Eric have but a couple of more weeks of splendor on the road. And as for my niece Chelsea, who we rendezvoused with in Budapest – that gal's got it made. She'll be sampling all the world has to offer for another year.
But enough about my jealousy over her good fortune. Besides laying waste to hectoliters of beer from Budapest to Belgium , what have we learned from our adventure? Some final thoughts …
Alcohol may kill some germs, but it doesn't get ‘em all. All eight of us succumbed to whatever Typhoid Chelsea shared back in Budapest . (She is such a giving child!) In fact, “I'm gonna kill Chelsea !” was snifflingly muttered more than once by more than one of us during the trip. God knows, we liberally applied “barley therapy” (my term) to make our bodies “inhospitable hosts to germs” (Eric's term). Of course upon reflection, sleeping seven in a 10-by-12 room for four nights during Oktoberfest might have been something of a viral incubator. From sinuses to anuses (did I really just write that?!), each of us battled illness in our own singular way.
The enigma that is “yellow fizzy ” beer. It sucks in Munich by the mass-ful. It's solid in Plzen ; even better in Ceske Budejovice . (Do you remember how the city's pronounced? Can you pronounce it after a couple of Budvar Strongs?) And in Antwerp , it's ambrosia.
For six years, I've been looking for something good to say about Bush. Finally, in Belgium , I stumbled on (over?) what to say – it tastes great and has a better head than he does! And, who'd have thought a pink beer – in Brussels , no less – would taste like more? Lots more. Go figure. Or better yet, grab your passport and sample for yourself.
Belgian waffles. They can't hold a candle to Scott's favorite Belgian dessert,: girls in skirts on bicycles!
And while we're on the subject of Belgian staples, pomme frites (their version of French fries) are, I'm afraid, a bit overrated. I've had much tastier Belgian-style potatoes in Pittsburgh , of all places. However, give the Belgians credit for offering upwards of a dozen different dipping sauces (warm curry was my favorite). The folks at Heinz, McDonalds, Applebees, etc. should take note.
Beer is a social drink, best enjoyed with friends. Do I really need to elaborate? You know I will, so let me do it as a valedictory (Val-edictory?) to our travels and our companionship …
Three weeks ago who know what would happen among us? We were, in no particular order:
- an enthusiastic but neophyte traveler;
- his savvier former (and future?) girlfriend;
- two globetrotters nearing the end of their 12-month odyssey, slightly fearing re-entry into Portland ;
- a retired engineer with a nearly all-consuming curiosity in beer, both social and scientific;
- a between-jobs good-time Scotty with a nearly all-consuming desire to consume all;
- and the one link to each of the other six, whose goal was to enjoy both big beers and musical bombast in large measure.
Individual friendships, fortunate scheduling and wanderlust brought us together. But the unifying force was beer, both in quanity ( Munich ) and quality ( Belgium ).
Over 22 days and dozens of brews these seven individuals learned to laugh with and at each other, smooth out their companions' rough edges (or perhaps their own rough impressions of the rest) and come to appreciate the usefulness of barley-induced give-and-take. Both minds and itineraries were altered in the process.
It would have been a far less fun trip without the beer and the delightful places in which we enjoyed it. OK, and in the hostel rooms, too. And the Patron, absenthe and jennever, for that matter.
So, a tip of the Lowenbrau lion cap to the Delerium Café in Brussels, U Flekú in Prague, the Hippodrom tent in Munich and Kulminator in Antwerp (to mention just a few) for encouraging this constant – if occasionally grudging – evolution from seven independents into one body politic (or, on a couple of nights, body alcoholic).
We're scattering now, back to our old routines or, in some cases, off to establish new ones. Our lives go on. But our memories really will last a lifetime. Prosit, y'all!