The other Switzerland

If you’re a seasoned traveller in Europe, you probably have a fair idea where both France and Switzerland are situated on the map, and you may even know that these two countries in German are known as “Frankreich” and “Schweiz”. What may come as a surprise to you, though, is that a large section of what is technically Bavaria doesn’t like to call itself Bavarian at all – rather, the proud inhabitants call this region “Franken”, in English referred to as “Franconia”, and a sub-section of this even calls itself “Switzerland” – or “Fränkische Schweiz” in the native tongue. Sounds complicated? Well, at least there’s a pretty solid reason for you to find this place on the map and book your next holiday immediately because this, ladies and gentlemen, is the region with the highest density of breweries in the world. Furthermore, these are not just any breweries, these are old, family-owned small breweries that soldier on in tiny villages, serving the local population and a handful of tourists with some of the best beers known to mankind.

The natural focal point for beer lovers in Franconia is, of course, the city of Bamberg. This city is so charming and pretty that every other city in Europe effectively ends up looking like a rubbish tip in comparison. It also has a crapload of breweries and it is the spiritual home of the “rauchbier”, or smoked beer in English, a beer style that for beginners may come as a shock since it tastes suspiciously like bacon, but for those who like this sort of thing is just about reason enough to move there. However, Bamberg has become rather touristy of late, so if you want to head off the beaten path you should rent a beer-friendly vehicle like a bike or a toy tractor and head off eastwards towards Switzerland (as it were).

When you arrive there, it’ll be immediately unclear why it’s called Switzerland since it looks nothing like its bigger (and much more expensive) sister country to the south. There are a few hills and some rocks sticking up, but no banks, no holey cheese, no yodelling and not a single referendum in sight. However, unlike the other one, you’re not unlikely to accidentally crash your bike or tractor into a brewery, because there are several of these on every street corner. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but there are literally a couple of hundred dotted around an area not much bigger than a relatively small section of Belgium.

Once you’re there, one great way to explore the region is to park your bike or tractor and proceed on foot. There are several beer trails of varying lengths that coincidentally lead you past a brewery every kilometre or five, where you can stop for suitable refreshment. One of these is simply called the “Brauereiweg”, or “Brewery Way”, a very simple and ingenious name for a 13km long countryside walk that crashes into four very nice little breweries along the way. The great thing about the walk is that you can sober up a little bit between breweries, the great thing about the beer is that it makes the walk so much more fun, causing people to break into song, cow-tipping and other shenanigans along the way.

The Kathi-Bräu in Franconian Switzerland

Then there’s the beer. Oh, the beer. My talent for waxing lyrical falls light years short of the kind of celestial celebration I would like to write in its honour, but I will attempt it nevertheless. Picture Bach, Beethoven and Mozart getting together for a little jam session where they would combine their talents to compose the greatest symphony ever written, and picture listening to this in the most beautiful place you can imagine, such as a particularly nice pub. That would perhaps come close to the sensory experience of taking a sip of one of the beers that these breweries make. OK, perhaps this was slightly exaggerated and somewhat influenced by the sensory enhancing effects of the beers themselves, but you get my point. There aren’t many places in this world where you can drink better stuff, and you can perhaps even remove the “m” in “many”, though I have not been everywhere yet so I can’t be sure.

Another brewery, another beer.

For those of you who may wonder what the beers are like from a more down-to-earth point of view, I also have some information. First, there’s no Pilsner and second, the lightest beer colour you’re likely to see is amber. Most of the breweries brew only one or perhaps two beers, and the main one will be the style known as “Landbier” or “Vollbier”. These are malty, yet very well balanced brews that are full-bodied without being sweet, refreshing without being tart, and served cold without being frosty. Make sure that you order the brewery’s own beer on tap (“vom Fass”) – they may also stock some bottles from well-known national brands just to cater for those who think McDonald’s is a restaurant.

As if by magic, we came across yet another brewery.

As mentioned, there are many brewery walks in this region, and it is possible to do circular, triangular, square, straight and gay walks spanning anything from a couple of hours to several days. Some breweries even offer comfortable lodging, and if you can distract yourself long enough from the singing and cow-tipping whilst walking, you may also appreciate the scenery which is pleasantly rural with rolling hills, river valleys and occasional rocky parts where you may decide to climb up, fall down and kill yourself unless you bring a rope, in which case the rope may save your wife. Enough rambling (no pun unintended), the conclusion is simple: this is a great region for beer lovers, and you should make a pilgrimage at least once (a year). Explore Bamberg first, then rent the aforementioned bike or tractor and head towards Switzerland, do a few walks, drink some great beers, meet some new friends, say goodbye, meet the same new friends at the next brewery, and so on. You can’t go wrong, there are signs everywhere and it’s really confusing. As they say in Mongolia: Tulatsgaaya!!

Bikes, beer and Bavaria!

Bavaria, or Bayern as this part of Germany is known in the native language, has it all, with the possible exception of a coastline. Big bustling cities, small charming towns, snaking rivers, non-snaking canals, tall mountains, refreshing lakes, cycle-friendly roads, non-smoking legislation and lively folk-fests on a weekly basis – what more could you ask for? Well, there’s beer of course. Luckily, Bavaria has more of that than anywhere else on this planet as well as all other planets I’m aware of. So why do people go to Italy on holiday instead? Because people are stupid, that’s why.

I’ve spent most of the last couple of weeks inside the “Free State of Bavaria”, as it’s known to the locals. It might technically be part of Germany, but only because the locals choose this out of their own free will, you understand. This is very important. Should Berlin try and impose some restrictions on the Bavarians that they don’t like, you can safely assume that Europe will gain another independent nation before you can say “Donaudampfschifffahrtsgesellschaftskapitän”.

There’s an on-going debate as to where the beer-drinker’s heaven on earth is actually located. Some say Belgium. Others say the Czech Republic. Nobody says Iran. I say Bavaria. Mostly because of the fact that in this state alone, there are more than 600 operational breweries that fuel the aforementioned folk-fests and other jolly occasions such as Tuesdays. The vast majority of these breweries are several hundred years old, family-owned, and – not surprisingly – very traditional. This does mean that there’s a certain predictability as to what you will get when you order a beer – almost all have a portfolio consisting of a very drinkable pilsner, an very quaffable helles (light lager), a rich and malty dunkles (dark lager) and a fruity wheat beer. In addition, many also have a Landbier or Vollbier, which is an amber, malty and full-bodied beer.

My lovely wife and I went on a cycling trip through Bavaria a couple of weeks ago. As mentioned in previous blog posts, cycling and beer is a great combination. First and foremost, cycling makes you thirsty, especially on a hot summer’s day. Second and middlemost, you can cover relatively large distances on a bike, so you can visit several breweries in a day. Third and lastmost, a bit of pedalling between breweries means that you sober up sufficiently to avoid risking your own or anybody else’s life due to the combination of your mode of transport and the state of your mental awareness. In other words, with a little bit of planning you can easily visit 4-5 breweries during a happy day of relaxed cycling and even live to tell the tale.

We chose to start our trip in Frankfurt. Not because this is a lovely, charming city (it isn’t), nor because it’s got great beer (it hasn’t), but because it’s got a massive train station that has direct connections from everywhere except Iceland. By following the river Main, which is a tributary to the slightly more well-known river Rhine, you very quickly cross the border into Bavaria – and not just any part of Bavaria, but Franconia, which is where they make loads of wine, until you move a bit further upstream to the region around Bamberg and those nasty vineyards disappear and they start making beer instead.

Small brewery with beer garden

I shan’t describe in detail each and every brewery we visited, since they numbered 42 by the end of the 9^th day in the saddle. There’s a photo of my good self in front of each and every one, but since drinking at all of them would have been somewhat suicidal, especially on the day we visited 11, I’ll limit this blog post to more general observations. Here they are:

1) Most breweries are very small and supply the drinkers at only a handful of pubs, or even just the one where the brewery is situated. In this respect they are similar to modern microbreweries. The main difference is that the vast majority of these breweries have been handed down about a dozen generations of a family with the name Schnausenfutter (or similar), and are therefore typically several hundred years old.

2) The majority of these breweries are found in very small towns or villages where there’s very little sign of life, and a surprising number of these have two or more, often within a few bottle lengths of each other.

3) Each brewery with respect for itself has its own Bierkeller (beer cellar), where people drink in summer. You may think this sounds strange. That’s because it is. What happened was that the brewers needed a cool place to store (lager) their beers, which they found in small underground caves at the local hill – the cellars. Then, the thirsty local people would be drawn like dehydrated magnets to the hill, demanding fresh beer. The brewer, sensing a business opportunity, duly planted a couple of massive trees to provide shade, put up some tables and some chairs, and the rest is history.

4) The beer is, without exception, very good and sometimes absolutely wonderful.

One of the larger ones

Of course, there are plenty of other things to see and do in Bavaria as well. However, since this is a beer blog, I’ll just encourage you to read a travel blog if you crave details on museums, art and outdoor pursuits other than sitting in the beer garden. Meanwhile, you could do worse than cancelling your planned trip to Italy next summer and going to Bamberg instead, which is arguably the beeriest town in the world, being host to no fewer than 9 breweries, including ones that brew beers that taste like bacon, ideal for breakfast. The real treasure is the land that surrounds Bamberg, though, where the main output of most brewers is a malty amber lager that tastes so good that it makes you want to drink nothing else for the rest of your life, which in which case would be happy and short, though considering the number of old fellows seemingly spending all day in the bar, perhaps the opposite is true. The fact that the price of a half litre of this amber treasure is around two euros also means that your holiday budget will stretch very far.

In conclusion, Bavaria should be a mandatory stop on every beer lover’s agenda, and just attending Oktoberfest in Munich does not count. Visiting in summer is recommended, since the shady trees of the Bierkeller provide the ideal environment in which to enjoy a half litre or nine. There’s still time this year, so off you go! See you there - I’ll be the one in the corner with the sweatiest bike and the happiest smile.

Beer and Back Again

Last week I promised a report from the cycle trip I was about to do to the part of Bavaria called Allgäu, which is roughly the area squeezed in between Augsburg in the north and the Alps in the south. Well, I lived to tell the tale of this epic round trip of sore bottoms and regional breweries. So, make yourself comfortable, open a bottle of your favourite brew, and read on.

We set off early the first day, so early, in fact, that we arrived at the first brewery ten minutes before the tap even opened - at 10am. The brewery was in the pleasant town of Tettnang, and called Kronenbrauerei, probably to distinguish it from the 187 other breweries in Germany known as, yup, Kronenbrauerei. The beers were a bit more original, a nice dark Bock and a feisty Kellerpils (unfiltered) set us nicely up for the ride to Isny where we arrived at beer o'clock.

Isny is another pleasant town, which is equivalent to saying that the brewery is easy to find. This one's called Stolz, which according to this splendid dictionary means "proud", "ego" or "boast", but probably comes from a surname rather than some elevated opinion of their own products. The Helles (light), Dunkles (dark) and the Pils we tried were all very drinkable, and in the glorious sunshine our spirits were high. This was clearly destined to be a great Easter holiday.

After meandering along some pretty straight roads for another couple of hours we arrived, not entirely accidentally, at another brewery in an obscure little village called Missen. The brewery was, despite the name of the village, impossible to miss since it occupied a very prominent spot along the hamlet's only road, imaginatively named the Hauptstrasse (that's the street, the brewery is actually called Schäffler). Here we tried both the Zwickl (unfiltered) and the Dunkles, again these were quality brews but not quite up there with the ones we enjoyed earlier in the day.

The final destination of the day was the village of Rettenberg. This place has no fewer that 4248 inhabitants and the TWO breweries brew no less than 14 MILLION litres of beer every year. That's 3300 litres per person, or about 9 litres per person, per day. Good thing they don't have to drink it all themselves, because if they did they would, according to my very accurate calculations, have more alcohol than blood in their bodies after a few months. For some strange reason, where breweries in Bavaria have tended to stay very local and/or closed down in their hundreds, these two have both grown to become big, regional players, supplying pubs, restaurants and shops all over the Allgäu. Anyway, I felt like a Norwegian in a reasonably priced beer shop as I rode into town on my two-wheeled horse with the sun setting picturesquely behind me.

With loads of work to do, we settled quickly at our comfortable guest house and headed straight out aiming for the Engelbräu brewery tap, where we arrived safely 37 seconds later. Their slogan is "the beer which is as heavenly as its name", and since this was Good Friday to boot we thought we were in for something extraordinary. We tried the Urtyp Helles and the Urtyp Dunkles, and for the first time that day I was a bit disappointed. Don't get me wrong, these were good beers, but they were nothing special. They were also served very cold, which pretty much killed the taste until late in the beer glass. After a quick dinner, we headed for the other brewery tap - Zötler - where we discovered that they offered a taster's selection of four different types in very cute 100ml glasses. The Bock and the Weizen were good, but - again - the Helles and Dunkles were simply a bit, well, too standard.

Day one was always going to be a tough act to follow. Besides, we had other things to do and places to see. Therefore, we didn't arrive at the next day's first brewery until lunch time. This was the Postbrauerei Nesselwang, situated in the village with the same name. The brewery tap had, in addition to decent Bavarian food, a "taster session" on the menu where you got to taste 4 x 300ml glasses of different beers, plus you got a little ratings sheet where you could rate the beer according to different criteria like smell (smells good: 10p, smells kinda good: 8p, smells a bit rough: 6p, smells like donkey shit: 4p), head durability, taste, bitterness and clarity. This was immense fun, and it was with great sadness we had to leave knowing that there was still several litres of excellent Bock beer available.

On the way towards Füssen (where the famous castle Neuschwanstein, clearly inspired by the Disney films, was built in the 1870s) we stopped at the Kössel-Bräu brewery, which was sadly closed for the Easter holidays, in a tiny hamlet-let called Speidel. Because of the lack of openness, we had to continue thirstily towards Füssen, where we arrived to find that all traces of the local breweries dotted around this part of the world had been wiped out by the big names (Paulaner and the like), including the town's own which closed in 2007.

On day three it was time to head north. We stopped briefly at the site of Aktienbrauerei Kaufbeuren, which looked nice enough, though we had already tried their beers before since they seem to be rather ubiquitous around the region. More interesting is the fact that smack next door lies another brewery, or rather an ex-brewery, called Rosenbrauerei. The magnificent main building stands there empty and decaying, a silent witness to the acquisitions and mergers that have killed off so many of the world's independent brewers.

Our final destination for the day was the Irsee Klosterbrauerei. This was once a monastery, then Napoleon or someone equally friendly kicked the monks out, after which the massive buildings just stood there for 170 years or so, until someone had the bright idea to start a brewery in 1970 because "the monks used to like beer". Now it's a big hotel, restaurant, beer garden, museum and brewery - all very pleasant. We methodically tried their beers and they were all good, but again served too cold. The main problem with the place was that it had somehow become a little bit fake. Everything was done very neatly and professionally to create the feeling of this being something authentic, but it was a bit overdone, and therefore didn't feel real. Actually, the main problem was their beer glasses. They had photos printed on them. They looked like postcards. I popped into the museum and saw their first generation beer glasses, from before the marketing people took an interest in such things. They were great.

The final day of this epic journey was very sunny, and we were in the delightfully named and eerily quiet village of Dirlewang before 10am. The brewery is called Hirschbräu, founded in 1806 and not much changed since by the looks of things (the website was also made in 1806 and placed over the entrance). Open during working hours only, it was firmly shut on Easter Monday, so we imagined that we were drinking one of the most local beers in Germany, and we imagined it was delicious.

Luckily, we didn't have far to go before we arrived in the town of Ottobeuren. The main feature in this town is a monastery complex so big the entire town could have fitted inside it. Or something like that. Just outside was the real surprise of the journey, namely a brewery that I didn't know about beforehand. This was because some exceedingly lovely person or persons had decided to re-open a long-closed brewery, namely the Hirsch Hausbrauerei. They now brew what proved to be my favourite beer of the entire journey, namely a complex, full-bodied Märzen which tasted so good I actually wanted to marry it, but my wife wouldn't let me.

There was still time to squeeze in a final brewery, the Kronburger Brauerei in Kronburg, where we found one of the finest beer gardens I have ever seen, appropriately packed with people enjoying the Easter sunshine and some well-brewed beers. I went for the Bock, and it was a great choice. Though it is possible I was influenced by the great weather and the atmosphere, I hereby declare it to be the second favourite of the journey - malty, full-bodied and immensely satisfying.

That was the end of the beery side of this journey, and all that remained for us was to bike home. I'd recommend a cycling trip like this to anyone who likes cycling, beer and nice scenery. I hasten to add that though this text has perhaps focussed a teeny tiny bit on the beer and brewery side of the trip, we also found time to drink some wine. And do some sight seeing in several castles and old towns. And cycle more than 300km in great weather. Now I shall rest both my liver and my legs for a few days.

Beer and Cycling

Regular readers won’t be surprised to hear that I like visiting beer and drinking breweries. There are few pleasures to rival arriving at a new brewery, having a nosey around their buildings, perhaps purchasing a T-shirt, and then heading off to the brewery tap for a couple of jars.

The problem is always how to get there since a considerable number of them set up shop inconsiderately far from where I live. Needless to say, I do not own a car. Beer drinking and driving simply don’t go together. I may kill somebody or myself, I may lose my licence, and in any case it’s a very bad thing to do. Therefore, I use trains a lot. Quick, comfortable, occasionally even running to some kind of schedule, this is the ideal mode of transport for the dedicated beer drinker. In Germany, you can even bring your own beer on board and drink it at your seat without having to hide the bottle in your armpit and pretend you’re checking that your deodorant is still working every time you take a sip.

However, in Germany there are in the region of 1300 breweries. Not all of these happen to be situated within easy reach of a train station. This is where the humble bicycle enters the picture. I’ve got a steady bike, with panniers and mud guards, ideal for excursions. Germany has about a billion kilometres of paved cycle paths criss-crossing the country, literally paving the way from one brewery to the next. Having learned once and for all how to cycle whilst slightly (or very) inebriated during my student days, and estimating the added danger of a couple of beers to be negligible when coasting along at 20 km/h on near-deserted paths through forests and fields, the pedal-driven treadmobile is the ideal solution for leisurely inter-brewery travel.

The weather last weekend was simply glorious. With pale skin after a long winter, and our hair flowing freely in the mild spring air, my wife and I set off for the 50km ride to one of the nearest breweries, situated in Königseggwald – pretty much directly north of Lake Constance. The ride was beautiful, the sun baking, and we arrived just in time to miss last orders for lunch as the brewery tap. We settled for a fluid lunch, and ordered beer. Straight away I encountered one of the really quite weird things in Germany – they only serve pilsner in 300ml glasses. The conversation with the waitress went as follows:

Me: Could I have a half litre of pilsner, please?
Waitress: Sorry, we only have small glasses of pils.
Me: Is the pilsner on tap?
Waitress: Yes
Me: And you clearly have half litre glasses available, because you sell the Spezial in half litre sizes?
Waitress: Yes, shall I get you a Spezial?
Me: Could you perhaps pour the pilsner beer from the tap into the half litre glass?
Waitress:<long pause> I guess that is possible.

I can only presume that the 345-page manual entitled “how to be a waitress in our pub” doesn’t include clear instructions on the not exactly mind-numbingly difficult task of pouring pilsner into a half-litre glass. Maybe it’s a combination the Germans simply never thought of. However, considering the weird array of beer mixers on offer – they don’t bat an eyelid when you ask for lemonade, coca-cola or banana-juice to be mixed with beer – it’s just bizarre.

The beer tasted, as brewery tap beers tend to do, extremely fresh and delicious. I find that really fresh beer has an extra almost citrus-like zippiness to it, which makes it go down even better, especially on a hot sunny day in a lovely peaceful beer garden.

I must admit that motivating myself for a 50km ride back after a fluid lunch was hard. The early spring sun was hot and strong, and slowly changed our skin colour to something resembling cooked lobsters. I don’t like lobsters. We rode home and drank pizza and ate red wine. It had been a fine day.