The Epic Dusseldorf Bike Journey

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The week leading up to our first travel weekend was mostly spent on recovery. I was still a little sick from Amsterdam, and I hadn't yet realized how short four days can be between trips. Classes were entering their second week, the syllabi were handed out, and real work was setting in. The idea of a new country every weekend still seemed like distant dream, and it wasn't until Thursday night, after a long game of Monopoly, that the next day's trip really sank in.

A week earlier one of my roommates, Ben, had suggested a bike trip to Dusseldorf, a place I only knew as international vampire headquarters in the animated Cuban feature "Vampiros en Habana," but I liked the idea of a bike trip and told him I was interested. Meanwhile other kids started to formulate real plans. Traveling in groups of up to twenty, they had every bit planned, from what vans would pick them up at the Castle to what they would do when they got there. This was a little intimidating as I told everyone who asked that I thought I was biking to Dusseldorf, not wanting to say I was sure this was my "plan." Ben booked the hostel for three that Monday, the third rider a friend, Aaron. The whole week we asked each other and ourselves questions like "Okay, so wait, we're biking there? How far is that? What is there to do there?" We developed stock answers to these questions, but in truth none of us had any idea what we were in for.

Late Thursday night I printed out walking directions from Google maps that put the walking time at around 13 hours. We suspected the 70km ride would take us about 4 hours on bike, giving us plenty of time for stops in the various towns along the way. The forecast called for rain, so I packed a little extra in case I got soaked, and went to bed.

The next day we met in the courtyard outside the Voorburcht, checked the maps, and headed out. We stopped at the supermarket for bread and brie and other snacks for lunch and set off south on the main road. After about 40 minutes we reached the town of Arcen, a bit bigger than Well with a more defined city center. We checked out Kasteel Arcen for comparison: it's nicer. After Arcen, we headed east, along another road through the woods that took us past the German border and into the town of Straelen. Straelen is even bigger than Arcen, though still the same sort of beautiful European town every affluent area of any eastern American city tries its hardest to recreate. Just as quickly as we had entered, we left, back out into the fields. That's the thing about these European towns: there's very little sprawl. Granted we're in the country, so it could also be that, but considering how long the ride would take, we got lost very few times. We just sort of followed the roads from one town to the next, each a bit larger than the last.

After Straelen came Kempen, and then Krefeld. Entering Krefeld was a moment of triumph for all of us. We had been biking a long time with few stops, all the while telling each other we would stop for food in Krefeld, which seemed to be a fairly large city outside of Dusseldorf. When we entered Krefeld, however, our spirits soon faded. Just like the other cities seemed to be a collection of quaint Georgetowns, Krefeld, we decided, was the place where this stretch of German towns pooled their urban blight and car traffic.

The place was a shithole, and I honestly consider it to be the strongest point in the argument against repeating the trip. We talked about it, but agreed that we would have to find a route that avoid Krefeld, or rest beforehand so we have the strength to speed through now that we know the way. I feel sorry for those who have told me they would like to do the trip, they will inevitably get lost here, and it will make the last couple of hours of the trip extremely unpleasant.

That is exactly what happened for us. Luckily we got out of Krefeld before dark, and proceeded to get lost several more times as we navigated the outskirts of Dusseldorf. We finally broke down and got food and directions at a gas station (though in our defense we got pointed in the direction we were going anyway). We finally made it to the hostel at 6 pm, after seven hours of riding. Hans the happy German receptionist greeted us, cheerfully carrying on for what seemed like another seven hours about God knows what. When he finally took a breath, we paid him, took our keys, locked our bikes in the garage, found our room in the immaculately clean hostel, and just sat for a good hour.

When we got our strength, we decided to head into town. We soon learned that Hans' excellent directions could have been summed up in "Cross bridge, turn left," as it takes some effort to get lost in Dusseldorf's old town. We crossed the Rhine on the Rhine Knee Bridge in the direction of the "famous" space needle. The walk is beautiful at night. The space needle is lit up in several neon colors, reflecting the vibrant nightlife below, while the black waters of the Rhine slither past, and dark silent barges remind you of this river's importance now and in history for transportation and trade. We easily found the old town, Dusseldorf's main city center. The street dubbed "the world's longest bar" is also pretty hard to miss, thanks largely to our surprise at being able to drink freely in the streets. Yes, even in the cold of February, every bar had tables outside, all the better to wander (drink in hand) from bar to bar, or, as we did more often, stand at a long table with a bunch of guys you don't know or understand and just take in the Mardi Gras atmosphere.

As if that wasn't enough to make Dusseldorf a beer-drinker's paradise, many of the restaurant/bars along the street brew their own variation of "Alt" which translates to "old." The places that don't brew their own serve one of the other restaurant's brands, which means one can simply walk from bar to bar saying "ein alt" and have a good variety of local German brew.

As cool as this was, I have to be honest: I wasn't a huge fan of many of the alts. They aren't bad, but they are generally a little too bitter for my liking. The bitterness isn't so much a hoppy taste, but instead a foul bitterness that was more pronounced in certain brands. But like I said, it wasn't terrible; beer is beer, and when a place has a local beer culture like that and you're in town for the weekend, it's easy to go with what's on tap.

Before we hit the bars in earnest, we had to eat. We came upon a place that couldn't have been more than fifteen feet wide, with outdoor seating, pictures of the food, and, even better than pictures, entire animals visibly cooking behind the counter. Ben and I made eye contact and knew this was the place to revitalize our weary spirits German style.

Weiner schnitzel, until this night just some funny words. It wasn't as amazing as I had hoped to be honest, but fried pork and french fries with mayo and a side salad can't be bad, especially after seven hours of biking.

After dinner, we hit a few different bars to sample what the town had to offer. Moving from place to place, we somehow ended up in a bar with flashing lights, awkwardly dancing white people, tons of Jager, and GERMAN TECHNO REMIXES. It was here we saw the only native English speakers we would see the whole trip, two girls from Canada working for a year as nannies in Dusseldorf (they also hated Krefeld). Together we danced shamelessly to corny remixes of songs like "Livin' on a Prayer" "I Will Survive" (a popular one) and "Mamma Mia." There is a beauty in the shamelessness at these places. Maybe its just that they have different standards regarding what constitutes bad dancing, but everyone at this place just seemed so comfortable in letting loose to these extremely catchy songs.

Later that night we got bratwurst at a corner window presumably making a killing serving a variety of sausage and kebab right in the midst of all the bars. So I ate a bratwurst with mustard in Germany after eating weiner schnitzel and drinking a variety of local German beer.

Walking back, we met a group of kids, the most talkative of whom was Dejon, an Armenian living in Dusseldorf. They had never spoken to Americans before, and Dejon was very excited to finally use the English his father had made him study so hard in school. He was also a hip hop fan and very excited we were from the "east coast."

The next day we went downstairs to reception to find out what we could do in our one full day in Dusseldorf. Fortunately Hans was gone, but unfortunately he was replaced by his exact opposite. The man was tall and brooding, and when we asked what there was to do he stared at us blankly like a dog when you confuse it (credit to Ben for that analogy). We asked again, trying a different wording of the question. He told us we could possibly go to old town, which is where people tended to go. Thanks.

So we were once again without direction. We headed across the bridge and back into old town, where we found salvation in a tourist information office. The man there was very excited to see us (most tourists seemed to be German) and he provided us with every bit of information we needed. Turns out there's plenty for tourists to do during the day as well in Dusseldorf. The city is famous for its high concentration of museums: 25, 22 of which are within a five block radius and almost all of which are free. There's also a nice park in the city and a beautiful palace just outside, which unfortunately we didn't find time to see.

We started with the Stadtsmuseum, a museum dedicated to the history of the city from the stone age to now. As a dork, I think this is the first place anyone should go if they go to Dusseldorf. Without being overwhelming, the unassuming, free and nearly empty museum offers a surprising wealth of information about the Rhineland to give a solid sense of place to Dusseldorf. So much comes to mind when I think back on this museum: art and artifacts from the original tribes of the Rhineland, the Romans, the founders of the city, Napoleon, WWI, WWII, today, and everything in between. I could have spent days there.

We next went to see the Schneider Wibble, a famous clock in a nondescript alley from which a wooden man pops out every two hours to play a tune on his bell. Ben was psyched for this and got me and Aaron equally excited. We stood and waited for ten minutes and finally the moment came. The man rang his bell for a good five minutes, playing a strange tune that left us all pretty confused and unsatisfied. Oh well, cross the Schneider Wibble off the list I suppose.

Then it was off to the Filmmuseum, which cost 2 euro and was only kind of worth it. There was a large collection of cool cameras and little exhibits on perception effects and some director exhibits. But in the end, it was a lot like the Air and Space Museum in DC: an interesting topic and a lot of cool stuff, but for some reason you leave feeling like you haven't gained anything.

We got out of the Filmmuseum at around 6 and started in the direction of the longest bar. Dusseldorf had been playing a soccer game that day, which ended in a victory around this time, so the many bars were filled inside and out with revelers in full soccer regalia. We went to a rustic place that brewed its own beer and got a table. After a few drinks we headed outside where we found a large group of adults drinking at the brewery across the street with instruments and strange old marching band uniforms. After about five minutes they lined up in rank and began marching down the street playing a good ol' German march. We followed them to yet another brewery, where we assume they drank more, but we were too intimidated to enter the now packed brewery, as we weren't sure how exclusive this old school pub crawl was.

Later we went on a walk around the city outside the old town. It was here that we came upon a convention hall filled with a wide variety of these marching bands, with more groups arriving every minute via coach bus. We asked a lady outside what was happening, and, through what little English she spoke, we gathered that it had something to do with Carnaval. She let Ben and I go in for a bit to watch, and it turned out to be very similar to the thing in Well, with people in silly clothes singing songs. We left quickly so not to disturb the event, and headed back to old town.

The only really noteworthy part of the rest of the night happened after a few more drinks, around the time I was remembering we hadn't eaten dinner. Aaron and I were standing at a table outside watching an English soccer game, when out of nowhere comes Ben with two platters of fries with curry sauce (like a sweet ketchup) and mayo on the side. Don't knock it till you try it. I had forgotten that it was the reason Ben left, so to me it was a surprise. It was a clutch move by Ben that I will not soon forget.

The next morning I ate the worst breakfast of my life at the hostel, and we started back for the castle. The ride was easier the second time around. We got through Krefeld with little trouble, stopping to pose in front of the "Leaving Krefeld" sign. From there we just focused on getting back so we could rest. We managed to avoid the dirt road that Google Maps had sent us down on the way over, and even had time to stop and get lunch in Kempen and coffee in Straelen, both times being served by good-looking German women who weren't used to seeing Americans in their little towns. In Arcen it started to snow/rain/ice pellet, which actually just made the bright sunset all the more beautiful when combined with the dark sky like a summer storm. The trip still took seven hours, but at least this time we had been able to stop for a bit, and because we left earlier, we got back before dark.

We finished the trip in a flying V through Well and into the castle, where we all got some of the best sleep of our lives.

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Photos

Veggies stay home
As Anthony Bourdain once said, "If you're a vegetarian, take your candy ass home and go to Disneyland"