A photo a day while I was away: Can't we stay just a little bit longer?

It's hard to leave scenes like this one, on Mechelen's main square. Going across the pond never gets old. Returning home never gets any easier.

A photo a day while I was away: Various reasons to love Mechelen.

I've never, ever, had an espresso machine in my hotel room. The Martin's Patershof Hotel bar's few taps included Gouden Carolus and Ename Tripel. The stained glass wasn't bad, either.

How it came to pass is detailed here.

A photo a day while I was away: Poperinge's parade of hops.

The history of the hop. Friends and enemies of the hop. Monks, itinerant hop pickers and bagpipers. Beetles, mites and birds. It's a broad cross-section of life, nature and mankind, all coming past our table at the Pousse Cafe on Ieperstraat.

More photos are here. We also visited the hops museum.

A photo a day while I was away: An evening at Cafe de la Paix.

These hop cones have nothing do to with my meal at the Cafe de la Paix, apart from our being in proximity to the cafe's kitchen during the hop fest in Poperinge.

That's because I had no camera with which to take photos, and would not have used one if it were present, because a religious experience should not be subject to crass selfies.

Opener: Succulent escargot with Rodenbach Grand Cru.

Main Course: Steak (medium rare) with Béarnaise sauce and frites, and De Dolle Oerbier.

Closer: Rochfort 10.

Boom.

Amen.

A photo a day while I was away: Tinkling under the stars.

On Friday evening, we investigated Poperinge's temporary fest version of a Bavarian beer hall, one capable of holding hundreds of people atop wooden tables and benches, and with oom-pah bands performing full tilt, singing and sausages.

Granted, the only beer available was half-liters of Stella Artois, sponsorship money from which enables the tent's setup. It's a First World problem for all of us, and about the only multinational incursion pertaining to Poperinge's hop party, but while golden lager has quite little to do with Belgium's ale-making heritage, it's the town's show, and I played along with it just like the gamer I am. The "marque" is great fun in spite of it.

Among the innovations witnessed at this pop-up beer hall was the notion of charging a one-time fee for using temporary port-a-loos (Euro 1.20 with a hand stamp), and open-air pissoirs outside for the gents.

The one pictured above was festooned with a campaign poster for one of three competing hop queen triads. One of the triads was declared victorious after a vote the following night; one of the girls becomes the queen, and the others her maids of honor. Here they're shown reclining semi-clad amid piles and piles of hops -- tastefully, of course, seeing as hops taste good ... naturally.

Verily, seeing slyly positioned teenage hop queen candidates advertising with their posters on outdoor urinating stations at a Bavarian beer hall in Belgium is precisely the sort of thing to remind one that he's no longer in New Albany.

A photo a day while I was away: Daisy!

I don't pretend to know Daisy Claeys all that well on a personal basis, although perhaps in a professional sense, "mutual admiration society" is a good way of putting it.

She is the owner and operator of the legendary 't Brugs Beertje, a specialty (entirely) Belgian beer cafe in Brugge/Bruges. My first visit was in 1995, and I remain enamored of the cafe's principled timelessness. It is impossible to overstate the influence of it in my own working world. Both Cafe Abseits in Bamberg and 't Brugs Beertje are 31 years old. My pub business is 27. I'm not sure what any of this means, apart from it being great to see Daisy again and to know she's doing well.

A photo a day while I was away: Transitioning to Brugge by means of a Cologne rail layover.

On Wednesday, September 17, four of us (minus Jeff and Karen) were to ride four trains over a seven-hour period to travel from Bamberg to Brugge. Little did we know that the German rail system was poised to fail massively; in the end, it took six trains and twelve hours to make the trip.

The silver lining was an unexpected opportunity to be stranded in Cologne for three and a half hours. That's time to check baggage, see the cathedral, and dash around the corner to PJ Fruh for a Kolsch-powered midday meal.  Above is a huge salad, boiled potatoes and herring remnants, with rolls and lovely small glasses of subtle golden ale -- roughly two swallows per glass.

Serendipity. Sometimes it works. We came into Brugge around 8:00 p.m., and shifted gears, patronizing a "night shop" license for French and South African wine, and shifting multiple bags of takeaway Tandoori from shop to rental apartment.

A photo a day while I was away: Schlenkerla's next generation gets an early start.

Young Julius donned the apron and manned the Spülboy for a round of glass-cleaning ... of course, under the watchful supervision of his papa, Matthias Trum. Julius's sister Felicia was born just before we arrived in Europe. We toasted the Trums, Schlenkerla, Rauchbier, Bamberg and anything else that came to mind while cherishing Matthias's valuable time, and the chance to meet the next generation up close.

The beer was fabulous. But you already knew that.

A photo a day while I was away: Spezial Keller in Bamberg.

What else is there to say? Bavaria overflows with appropriately situated beer gardens that offer delicious beer, bountiful food and slices of local life in equal measure ... but Spezial Keller is my favorite. It's on a hill overlooking Bamberg, and while lightly attended on the chilly September Sunday of our visit, welcomes huge crowds in optimum weather.

The beer is the lightly smoky Spezial, itself perhaps a Top Ten selection on my all-time list. It is brewed at Brauerei Spezial, a mile or so away; management of the brewery and beer garden is separate, but the beer just as lip-smacking. To get to the Spezial Keller, one must walk past the actual brewing site of Schlenkerla, as opposed to its tavern nearby.

I advise knee pads, given that opportunities for kissing the ground come fast and furious n Bamberg.

A photo a day while I was away: Berliner Kindl Weisse.

My aims these days tend to be modest. Berlin evidently is the über-center for beer geekiness, with numerous new wave breweries and brewers and beers, and with only two days on the ground, I chose instead to ignore them all and honor a solitary indigenous virtue by enjoying a Berliner Weisse.

This I did, sans schuss/syrup, in a beer garden located within the Volkspark Friedrichshain. It's where I worked as a volunteer in 1989, just before the Berlin Wall came down. The more recent beer garden in question stands on the spot where a simpler Imbiss once operated, one serving half-liter mugs of East German-brewed Berliner Kindl Weisse with raspberry syrup for less than 50 cents.

My work crew drank lunch there almost every day in 1989. I had just one in 2014, and enjoyed it very much. My ghosts were just as impressed.

A photo a day while I was away: Gaststätte Ambrosius in Berlin.

Our Berlin "hotel" was a wonderful Airbnb property located on Einemstrasse, south of the Tiergarten park and east of Zoo Station. Recalling that 70% of the city was destroyed in WWII, the area around our lodging is mostly newer construction, but with a sprinkling of surviving older buildings. It's a genuine neighborhood.

Often we speak of hotel bars, and how most are wretched but some quite good. Obviously our host didn't have a bar attached to her apartment, although just meters away, to the left of the building's entrance and facing the main street, lies this solid local eatery: Gaststätte Ambrosius.

Here's the draft list (with 0,3 liter and 0,4 liter pricing ... actually a bit higher at the time of our visit):

Berliner Pilsener 2,30 € 2,80 €
Warsteiner 2,40 € 2,90 €
Krusovice Schwarzbier 2,40 € 2,90 €

I didn't bother with Warsteiner. The Pilsner was nicely representative, and the Czech dark lager pleasingly dry, and less sweet than these usually are.

For dinner, there was goulash soup (beef) and East Prussian meatballs with white caper sauce, boiled potatoes and beet root. It seemed an appropriate choice, given that my ancestors spent quite some millenia working as peasants on Junker estates.