Düsseldorf has long been the headquarters city for the Ruhr, Germany’s powerhouse industrial region. It is the place for worker relaxation and for the spending of big industrialist salaries, which in turn patronises great arts and culture in a succession of big public galleries. It pays for eyecatching city architecture, too, and the net result is the secondmost liveable city in Germany (after Munich).

The city’s mostly pedestrianized centre is so new and modern it feels like an architect’s model. There’s Daniel Liebeskind’s curvaceous Kö-Bogen, whose ‘cuts’ in its façade sprout with greenery, and nearby Kö-Bogen II, a shopping centre disguised under beech hedges. Its most famous more traditional shopping boulevard, the ‘Kö’ – Königsallee – looks like a slice of Amsterdam, running as it does down both sides of a leafy canal, lined with flagship stores of famous names and patrolled by the unfeasibly tanned.

The old town

Beyond the Kö towards the Rhine is old Düsseldorf, a network of cobbled streets busy with bars and restaurants. There’s not a lot in the way of truly old architecture here but what it lacks in antiquity it makes up for in conviviality. The nightlife is vibrant, particularly along Bolkerstrasse, although you might want to steer clear on a football night.

The speciality of some of the old town taverns is Altbier, whose darker colour comes from the roasting of the malt. It is unpasteurised, so best drunk fresh at traditional locations like Uerige, Füchschen or Schlüssel, where the breweries themselves are directly on site. Here there’s a whole culture around drinking, mostly at convivial standing tables, where service is by middle-aged men (Köbes) who record your tally with marks on your beer mat.

Bordering the old town is the Rhine, with fully laden barges lumbering laboriously around its giant bend. Sheep graze on the floodplain on the far bank, while the near bank is lined with a long promenade, hugely popular amongst locals when the weather is kind. There are bars here, but the most dramatic view is from the top of the 240 metre Rheinturm, looking down on the river and the parliament building.

The city has a big encampment of galleries and concert halls – mostly just downriver from the old town – with a particularly large and significant art academy. No fewer than four art movements started here in the 1960s, during the time when the likes of Joseph Beuys and Gerhard Richter were students. These days its K20 art gallery has one of the biggest collection of 20^th century artists – Picasso, Kandinsky, Klee, Miro, Chagall etc – of any institutions in the world.

Art in the region has always been cutting edge, but not always recognised as such. Back in the 1980s, Joseph Beuys placed five kilograms of butter in an exhibition in the art academy, and called it ‘Fat Corner’. Eventually a gallery cleaner mistakenly cleared it away. Ever since then there’s been a German saying: Ist das Kunst oder kann das weg? “Is it art, or can I throw it away?”

France may have a reputation for village boulangeries, but in my experience many of the latter have been driven out of business by local supermarkets. Germany, however, has very much preserved its local bäckerei, which are still village hubs all over the country. Not only are these places great for all kinds of bread – brötchen or bread rolls alone usually come in over a dozen different types – but they also serve good and inexpensive coffee and many also offer simple and nourishing meals, with some sort of stand-up counter or limited seating. In short, they are a bargain.

And Germany acknowledges its bread experience in a couple of museums: in the south, there’s a Baden-Württemberg’s Museum of Bread Culture in Ulm, on the banks of the Danube. In the north, there’s Lower Saxony’s European Bread Museum in Ebergötzen, not far from Göttingen.

This is not the place to detail Germany‘s complex beer culture, with all the beer varieties, beer halls, beer gardens and beer festivals, but it is worth pointing out a couple of interesting beer experiences. In Düsseldorf, for example, you can take a tasting tour of the traditional breweries in town which still make Alt-bier, old beer, which is similar in colour and taste to British ale. It’s a real contrast to Cologne’s delicate pale kölsch,  just a few miles away.

Down in Bavaria there are tours of the famous hop fields of Hallertau, run by Elisabeth Stiglmaier. Plus all the beer-making Benedictines, as in monasteries such as Weltenburg by Regensburg, Andechs south of Munich, and Ettal down by Oberammergau. They all have their own breweries and beer gardens.

For a high density of local breweries and a truly nourishing smoky beer (Schlenkerla), the place to be is Bamberg. And no true beer pilgrims should miss out on the Zoigl villages of eastern Bavaria, where the concept of homebrew is taken to a whole new level.

Prost!

There is a fair degree of rivalry between the cities of Cologne and Düsseldorf, situated just 30 miles apart on the Rhine. The former prides itself on its history (it dates back to Roman times), the stature of its famous cathedral, and its relaxed easygoing lifestyle. However it was the latter, Düsseldorf, that was made capital of North Rhine Westphalia after World War II, not its larger neighbour. It has since become a major financial centre and, in the Königsallee, boasts one of the most exclusive shopping streets in Germany.

So you may not be surprised to hear that both cities strongly disagree on another very important issue: the preferred style of beer. In Cologne the locals drink Kölsch, a pale yellow, soft refreshing drink, not too dissimilar to standard German pils, lightly hopped and with just a touch of wheat malt. Düsseldorfers though prefer Altbier (commonly shortened to ‘Alt’), a copper-coloured, malty, very hoppy ale that has a dry and crisp finish.

Both cities are very proud of their respective beer and its heritage. Kölsch is protected by EU regulation and can only be brewed by 24 breweries, in and around Cologne, set out in the Kölsch Convention of 1986. No self-respecting resident of Cologne, when flying in or out of their shared airport (DUS or Düsseldorf), would contemplate indulging in an Alt; that would be an act of betrayal.

Where to drink it

Anyone visiting Cologne Cathedral will pass Früh am Dom, possibly the largest and most well-known of the Kölsch breweries. Whilst their beer is no longer brewed on the premises, it remains the busiest beer hall in the city, with a capacity of 1,000 and selling the equivalent of 850 litres of beer per week.  Other renowned brewers are Sion, also in the Altstadt, and Paffgen, which is reputed to be the best Kölsch in the city.

In Düsseldorf, a city renowned for having ‘the longest bar in the world’ in honour or the profusion of pubs, bars and restaurants in the Altstadt, there are no restrictions on who can brew Alt. However production is now centred on four breweries in or near the city centre, the most famous of which is zum Uerige (‘grumpy’ in the local vernacular, allegedly named after the original owner in the 1860s), a cavernous beer hall with many interlocking rooms leading off it. Other brewers include Zum Schlüssel, the Brauerei zum Füchschen and the Brauerei Ferdinand Schumacher, which is the oldest brewer of Altbier in the city, having been brewing continuously since 1837.

There are however a couple of similarities between the two cities. The beer is served by a Köbes (waiter) in both and comes in small 20cl glasses. Alt and Kölsch are designed to be drunk fast and fresh. Once emptied, your glass will be replaced by a full one within minutes by said Köbes. Both are top-fermented, too, in contrast to the bottom-fermented pils enjoyed in the rest of Germany.

But despite these shared characteristics, no two other cities in Germany, especially ones so close geographically, have such a healthy rivalry when it comes to what is consumed in their beer halls. – Mark Arrol

One of the great myths about Germany is that the trains run on time. Increasingly, they don’t. ‘We are one of the richest industrial nations in the world, but we have one of the worst railways in the world!’ screamed a recent headline in Bild.

A key issue is a lack of funding, with only €69 per capita annual spending on infrastructure compared to €165 in the UK and a whopping €362 in Switzerland.

A further issue is the sheer size of Deutsche Bahn, which has myriad business interests across the globe (including Arriva in the UK), to the point where transporting the average German by train is only a small part.
I have had plenty of personal experience of delays over recent years, with a service from Stuttgart to Heidelberg an hour late on a visit in 2016. The following year, waiting for a cancelled train at tiny Sinsheim station in the snow and ice was not an experience I’d care to repeat.

And on my latest visit when travelling from Düsseldorf to Hannover my train was 20 minutes late setting off, not great in itself, but then proceeded to lose a further 45 minutes, meaning I arrived over an hour behind schedule in Hannover.

The next day my 75 minute journey back from Hannover to Magdeburg took just over two hours, with no apparent reason for the delay. After watching a game of football in Magdeburg and needing to catch a flight back to the UK, with my faith in Deutsche Bahn precarious, I left the match early. It was a wise decision, because the train, despite leaving on time, finally arrived an hour and quarter late! Three journeys, three major delays.

All this is a huge shame because rail travel through Germany, something I first experienced whilst living there as part of my degree, is one of the great pleasures in life. The quality of the trains themselves, once they arrive, is superb, and now as the parent of a disabled child I am immensely impressed by the availability of specialist facilities, including a fully accessible toilet.

Tickets are comparatively cheap (if you book in advance) and the extensive network means that it is easily the best means of seeing great swathes of the country. There can few pleasures as great as sitting on a state-of-the-art ICE train and watching the beautiful German countryside rolling past. If only they could run on time!

It is the year of beer in Germany, in recognition of the 500^th anniversary of the Rheinheitsgebot, the beer purity law. So to celebrate the occasion I’ve just been on a beer tasting in Düsseldorf.

It happens that this city, despite being massively damaged in World War II, still has no fewer than five traditional brewery pubs (ie where beer is actually brewed on the premises). They are within walking distance of each other in the Old Town, the highest density of brewpubs anywhere in Europe. And the Düsseldorf beer is not the straw-coloured pilsner typical of most of Germany, but a much darker and delicious ale rather like British bitter.

We started in Kürzer, an unassuming place popular with a younger, trendy crowd. The beer tasted nutty and ultra fresh, piped from the tanks at the back direct into the taps at the front.

From there we moved onto Füchschen – the ‘Little Fox’ – a much larger and older place, dating back to 1848, with most of its customers standing, or leaning on chest-high tables. This, apparently, is part of the etiquette: if you are a solo drinker, or friends open to general conversation with others, then you stand in this area, aptly known as the Schwemme, or ‘floodplains’. If you want to keep to yourselves, you go to a table at the back.

Next was Schumacher, also large and old, but more elegant and restrained – apparently because it is run by women. Here I learned about key personnel: the Baas, who is the chief brewer, and the Köbes, the waiters, who are the high priests of beer. The latter will keep filling your glass, recording each refill with a tick on your coaster, until such time as you place that coaster on top of your glass indicating you’ve had enough.

By the time we get to Zum Schlüssel, number four on our list, and a big place with a thousand seats, I was getting hungry. There’s not a lot of choice (drinks are either beer, water or apple juice) so I wasn’t expecting much variety on the menu.  Flönz im Bierteig – black pudding in batter – didn’t sound very healthy, but it went down well.

The last port of call was Ueriger, another big one, and the third biggest brewpub in Germany. The beer here was incredibly bitter, but after the first sip or two you no longer notice it. And the trays of Frikadellen (homemade meatballs) with mustard that did the rounds of the various rooms really helped the medicine go down.

You can visit all five brewpubs on a two-hour guided tour with Altbier Safari, for €24.50, a price that includes a 0.2l glass of beer in each.

One of the times when I feel most at home in Germany, when I almost forget that my Heimat lies in London, is Karneval (Carnival) the festive season leading up to Shrove Tuesday and the beginning of Lent.

Why Karneval? Why does an essentially Catholic tradition which baffles many Germans make me feel so at home? It’s hard to explain but, besides the sheer amount of fun, I think it has a lot to do with feeling like an insider.

I too was caught completely off guard by my first ever Karneval and thought all the people running around in clown costumes and all the women trying to cut off my (rather pricey) ties were absolute lunatics. Three years down the line, though, and I count the days until Rosenmontag and Veilchendienstag, on which Cologne and Düsseldorf, two of Germany’s largest cities, grind to a screeching, hooting and hollering halt to make way for mile-long parades and a street party of epic proportions.

Yes, on reflection, a lot of the attraction of Karneval is initiation. It is, for example, knowing someone in Cologne who has a flat overlooking the route of one of the smaller, less touristy local parades; it is being welcomed by them at eleven in the morning with a party popper, a bottle of Kölsch beer and a big, slightly ironic grin.

We sat on the window ledge with our legs dangling out, waiting for the parade to start. The street started filling up, almost everybody was in some form of colourful, ridiculous or revealing costume. Suddenly, a troop of mock-Napoleonic soldiers dressed in blue and gold rounded the corner and the first float was ambling past. Within seconds, the air was filled with ticker tape, glitter and flying sweets, and the crowd below went wild.

Some of the floats carry a healthy payload of chocolate and miniature plastic schnapps bottles. “Over here! Over here!” we yelled: “Bützje, Bützje! Kamelle, Kamelle!” or: “Give us a kiss and give us a sweet!” We got more than we bargained for, though, as a silo of schnapps slammed into us at high velocity and a 200g bar of chocolate hit Christian in the face, sending him flying back into the room and causing no small level of amusement to one of the girls on the float.

It was completely surreal, a moment of inadvertent comedy timing in the midst of a city in chaos. Yet that is just the point: experiencing a city at its maddest, seeing it drunk, dressed up, from a precarious windowsill is just the way to make you feel like you have lived there all your life.

At the end of the day, though, I’m afraid that I’m clutching at straws trying to describe what Karneval is like. It can only be experienced, not explained. So if you’re missing your initiation this year, put the end of February in your diary and start thinking of a good costume.

Information on Cologne’s Carnival is on their official tourism website.

Brian’s videoblog, and his book.

So the Christmas Market season is finally upon us. All over Germany, almost every town will have some kind of market at its centre, with Glühwein, Bratwurst, and even Germknödel, dinner-plate-sized steamed dumplings made on the spot.  There’ll be all kinds of fruit-based cakes in the Weihnachtsbäckerei, and of course the ubiquitous Lebkuchenherzen (giant gingerbread hearts that taste like cardboard) dangling on ribbons all over.

Amongst the multitude of crafts stalls there’ll be acres of handmade woolly hats, handmade tree decorations, and useful handmade wooden things (bet you didn’t know how many useful handmade wooden things you needed). Look out for brightly-painted bird houses, the little men made of prunes and apricots, and the irresistibly dangly mobiles (and I don’t mean phones).

There’s an informal schedule for the markets. The early part of the evening is the time when families, particularly those with younger children, meet up, to be followed later by groups of friends and work colleagues, on seasonal outings. It’s usually all done and dusted by around 8pm on weeknights, and 10pm on weekends.

In the big cities, of course, the flavour, and the merchandise, is altered a bit by international visitors, because Christmas has become a big player in swelling Germany’s annual visitor figures. This nation has always had a big emphasis on its city breaks, and the presence of a market adds an extra reason for jumping on a plane, particularly in a drab time of year, when airline tickets are relatively cheap.

So which to choose? We recommend you avoid the obvious, ie the likes of Cologne or Berlin. The most atmospheric markets are in the more out of the way spots which might take a bit more effort to reach, but they’re worth the time. Somewhere like pretty half-timbered Bernkastel-Kues, for example, on the Moselle (access from Frankfurt-Hahn served by Ryanair). Or Nuremberg (Air Berlin from Gatwick) with its special Christkindlesmarkt. Or particularly holy Regensburg (Lufthansa to Munich then train), with its Cathedral Sparrows and four markets down narrow, cosy lanes. Or Düsseldorf (easyjet from Gatwick) which instead of one large market has seven separate Christmas themes and attractions in the Altstadt. Or Dresden (new flight with OLT-Express from Southend), the home town of Stollen, which has Germany’s oldest Christmas market, dating back to 1434.

Above all this is the time of year to put the onrush of consumerism, modernisation, technological innovation to one side, and get snuggled down and cosy. It’s a time of year when the oldest traditions are still the best.

A little less than year ago, the entire German nation was in love with an 18-year-old schoolgirl. Fresh, clean, optimistic, cheeky, sassy – there weren’t enough affectionate adjectives to describe Lena Meyer-Landrut, the double-barrelled (h)it-girl who had just won the Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) in Oslo.

Out of the blue, her slightly lippy manner, Joe Cocker dance style,  and one-of-a-kind interpretation of ‘Satellite’ bowled over both young and old in the German sing-off and impressed the participating ESC-nations who voted her to the top. A phenomenon! A sensation! Lenamania!

She couldn’t really read notes and her singing abilities were limited but that hardly seemed to matter in the frenzy that followed. Life was one long whirl of Lenamania. A day after Oslo, she signed the Golden Book of her home town Hannover: “Wow! Verdammte Axt, ist das geil! Dankeschönst.” (Wow! Bloody hell, this is wicked! Thanks) and shot to No.1 in Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, Denmark and Germany (again). Even Australia had her in the Top 40. Gigs in many European cities followed, along with interviews in all the big media, live performances on TV, advertising for the new Opel (Vauxhall) Corsa Satellite (named in honour of her victory), and even a Sesame Street Special.  Lena was everywhere.

So punchdrunk was Stefan Raab – Lena’s mentor and Germany’s undisputed king of entertainment  – with success that he persuaded the organising powers to change the selection rules for this year’s Eurovision. Only one singer (guess who!) was to present an array of 12 songs from which Germany could choose her song for Düsseldorf.

But it seems as if Germany has already had too much of a good thing. Almost overnight, the innocent, authentic novice has turned into the much less interesting defending champion, a little more media-savvy, no longer bright and naughty but nice, but a bit too confident, slightly impertinent, mocking her elders, no longer the princess of pop but a simple teenager with juvenile views. From underdog to overkill – CD sales ebbing away, tour venues less than full: Lena’s life is not so easy.

But fans are fickle. Love, hate and possibly love again – all seems possible when Lena enters the Düsseldorf stage with ‘Taken by a Stranger’ on Saturday. Maybe she’ll be the nation’s sweetheart again? Stranger things have happened!

Watch Lena’s performance at last year’s Eurovision