Day Two - Brussels to Cologne

The free breakfast included in the price of the hostel was never going to be worthy of a Michelin star.

One token got you:

1 x bowl of cornflakes resembling a collection of scabs
1 x UHT milk for said cornflakes
1 x cup of tea or coffee
1 x sachet of rubber cheese
5, that's 5 x slices of carpet sample bread

This was served with as much warm marge and Nutella as you could eat.

We packed away our plastic, compartmentalised trays and carried them, bellies full back to the kitchen where a woman wearing a shower cap was gratuitously hurling china into a vat of broiling washing up. I could discern a slight flicker of gleeful smile as a plate occasionally smashed in the soiled water.

Like an excited schoolboy rushing out of the refectory to go play roll down a hill and push over girls in the playground, I bounded out, very nearly falling into the hostel's tasteful water feature in the process.

As we only had three hours in Brussels, we decided to see as much of the architecture of the city centre as we could. Advised by a local to head for a carpark - which, by his instructions sounded like a dogging hangout - and take a lift to the top of its highrise.

Up at level 12, the view is stunning, enabling you to see the whole city perched on undulating plains, stretching scruffily all the way to the Atomium in the west.

The lift taking us back to solid ground screeched lividly and for a moment I contemplated the horrendous occurence of getting stuck in it for the rest of my life (another phobia of mine is getting stuck a lift, stemming from the time I sreamed a hotel down in Rennes). I glanced at the decrepit manufacturers plaque: Schindler. We were in Schindler's Lift.

Alive and not a bit persecuted, we headed for the main square of Brussels, which was nice. It had buildings. And cobbles. But not much else.

Pleased to be getting out of the blandest city south of Hull, we boarded the high speed Thalys train that would zip us effortlessly to Cologne. As we were getting on, a man stepped off the carriage and stood on the plaform, before lighting a cigarette. He wore a checked shirt in keeping with the train company's tasteful colour scheme and a card on a lanyard around his neck.

Assuming he worked on the train, everyone asked him where they were sitting. Assuming they were being stupid, he pointed them in any direction he fancied. General chaos ensued in which I ended up sat, albeit momentarily, on an elderly women's lap.

We got to a Cologne bathed in tepid sunshine and stepped out of the Hauptbahnhof into a plaza milling with cafes and young professionals, relaxing and doing whatever it is they do when they should be at work.

The Cathedral sits atop a stone square, reaching to the heavens with two brooding black spires. Looking up from the ground gives you a kind of vertigo, such is the awe-inspiring giddiness of its 196m.

An amazing feat of engineering and design, the Kölner Dom was started in 1248 and incredibly not finished for another 600 years, finally getting completed in 1880. It survived a heavy bombing in the war as it was so large that allied pilots used it for navigation.

In Cologne you drink Kölsch, slightly dry lager served in diddy 0.2l glasses, which makes for several rounds and deceptively large consumption. The headache I'm tenderly nursing this morning is testament to the beer's cruel tempations.

We had dinner (and beer) in a traditional brauhaus, Päffgen
much to the amusement of our waiter, who simply couldn't wait to try out his alcohol-related puns, "To beer or not to beer, zat is the qwestion," being the best of a terrible bunch.

We're off to meet up with my friend Jonny in Berlin tomorrow. I'll actually get up some pictures then, including one of a salacious-looking Claire staring lustfully at a Gregg's bakery steak bake. Not to be missed.