In Dusseldorf...

In the dead of night, the trams sound like an invading force of tanks, rumbling to a stop four floors below me. If you need an early morning call and you're staying in what was the Novum Madison (but is now Garners, part of the IHG group) you can pretty much bet on the trams waking you up. They woke me up, on many occasions, and each time I simply lay there staring at the ceiling and, oddly, thinking of that moment in The Polar Express movie when the train arrives outside the boy's house and everything starts shaking and rattling.

Since IHG has taken over they've spruced the place up a bit, but not by much; there's still a rough edge to the place and they've replaced proper hotel room keys with, yes, those awful key card things. My room (room 44) is huge and I could easily play table tennis in what amounts to unwanted space between the bed and the wardrobe. That said, I'm glad I have a wardrobe and not, like the Moxy in Nashville, a few wooden hooks sticking out of the wall. There's a desk too so I was quids in having spent a whole week in the Music City without desk or wardrobe and then, a week later, the same scenario but in Rotterdam. Perhaps wardrobes and desks are not part of the future for hotels. Let's hope they remain in situ.

My favourite restaurant of all time was fully booked, Christmas parties apparently, even in late November, so I found myself trolling around the streets after dark looking for somewhere decent to eat and not really finding anywhere apart from the usual crapperama (pizza restaurants mainly). That said, there was a place called Pho, a Vietnamese place as far as I could gather, but unfortunately for me, my earlier desperation to eat something had led to a chocolate bar, a Ritter Sport, which I'd bought to break up a 50 Euro note. I just about managed to eat the spring rolls (which were great) but the huge bowl of noodles and strips of crispy fried duck, not forgetting the pak choi and everything else, was too much and for the first time in my life (I think) I admitted defeat. "No, no, no, it was great, it's just that I stuffed my face with a chocolate bar and now I'm full up," I said, meaning every word of it because it was true and hoping they'd understand, but of course they didn't give a damn, I was still paying.

Room 44, Garners Hotel...

Afterwards, I wandered around in the dark peering into shop windows before eventually returning to the hotel and later being rudely awakened by the aforementioned early morning trams. Not that I was getting much in the way of sleep. I was due to moderate the opening session of an event on the outskirts of town the following morning, so I found myself reading through what I had to do (as I always do on these occasions) and then getting back into bed and listening to the noises of the city outside the window. It wasn't just trams; somewhere out there was a drunk shouting the odds at someone or something before he was drowned out by yet another tram.

When the event was over, I was invited to dinner and accepted. I just made it back to the hotel and had enough time to put some power into my iphone before jumping into a cab and heading for the shopping district of town. All the big brand names were there, Max Mara, Fendi, you name it and while I managed to check out some expensive watches that I couldn't afford, I didn't really have time to dawdle about. Later I walked back to the hotel, it took all of 20 minutes. It's hard to get lost in Dusseldorf.

The following morning, after more early morning trams, and another loud drunk (perhaps it was the same guy) I had a late breakfast and then hoofed it down to Dusseldorf central station to buy a ticket to Brussels Midi. I then tidied the room, put my suitcases behind the front desk before heading off on a trek into nowhere, which ended prematurely in a coffee shop (Mr. Ben's Coffee Shop no less) where I ordered a cappuccino and a flapjack. I always think I can relax, but when I'm travelling and I have places to be at specific times I always find myself preoccupied with the time and can't really settle. I strolled back to the hotel, picked up my suitcase, loitered for a while and then headed for the station. Platform 15, 1254, but it was late, arriving just past 1300hrs, a short ride to Cologne and then another train, the one I'm on now, heading to Brussels, where I'll have another wait for my EuroStar train.

Dusseldorf has always been my favourite European city, or one of them. I like them all to be honest, apart from Paris. A couple of weeks ago I spent a few days in Udine in northern Italy; that was great, but it was ruined by the cheese and ham rolls and the sugary cakes, which were everywhere, and then there's Linz in Austria, which is a longish train ride from Vienna, home of The Third Man ferris wheel and other attractions. In Linz there used to be a shop called Wanke. Yes, I know, very juvenile, but also very funny. I don't think it's there anymore, perhaps the shop owner went blind.

View from Room 44...

I wasn't that keen on Rotterdam, which I keep misspelling as Rotherham, especially after seeing a giant rat waddle unaccompanied into a restaurant. I won't be eating there, I thought. On that occasion I was staying in an easyHotel, which is basically a room and that's it: no breakfast, no wardrobes and no desk, but it was fine, especially after my adventure in Nashville where I was first introduced to the concept of hotel rooms without wardrobes and desks. These things are sent to try us and ultimately I find myself accepting whatever I initially thought of as a problem. In fact, where the Moxy was concerned, I felt a little guilty about criticising the hotel as it all worked out in the end.

We've just left Liege in Belgium and the weather is piss poor: grey skies and drizzly rain. In fact, everything is grey, not just the sky but the roads and the buildings and probably the people too, everybody shuffling around in puffa coats and trainers. Or perhaps that's just the UK.

I'm now in Exki, it's a cafe on Brussels Midi station. I was here on the way out on Tuesday morning as I needed somewhere with wifi so I could attempt to book a train online. Why couldn't I use the ticket office like normal? Because there was a three-day public services strike and there were no ticket people working. It proved a huge problem and in the end I even considered flying to Dusseldorf, but in the end help was at hand and one person checked me in for a train to my favourite German city. Now I'm back, awaiting the 1756 EuroStar to London. I can't wait. I've ordered roughly the same as I ordered when I was last here on Tuesday afternoon, but again I have to complain about the cuisine. When you're on the road, the food is basically a load of rubbish. Here it was all cheese again: cheese quiche (I hate quiche) followed by a cheesecake and, foolishly, I bought a cookie, which I've yet to eat. I'd buy a cup of tea in which to dunk said cookie but time is running out and I'd probably miss my train.

Time is a real issue at the moment. It doesn't matter how early you get up, time seems to catch up with you. On the way out here I was awake around 0330hrs knowing that my alarm was going off at 0600hrs, but I couldn't sleep as I didn't want to oversleep and miss my train, so I got up and got everything ready and then I was given a lift to the station and I jumped on the 0709 train to London Victoria, took the tube to St Pancras International and then, after going through security and what have you and despite seemingly having enough time, it turned out that there was no time to chill whatsoever. I  just about managed to eat a custard Danish and drink a cup of tea and it was time to go. Soon the train was called, Platform Five, and suddenly we were off, heading for Brussels. And when I got to my destination I was told of the public services strike and time crept up on me again. I figured if the worse came to the worse I would fly, but as I said above, everything was suddenly fine, but by the time I reached Dusseldorf and checked into my hotel time was running out fast. There were no tables at my favourite restaurant and suddenly time was in free fall again. But you know all of this, I'm just saying how odd it is that even if you 'leave enough time' you soon don't have any left. It's like now, I've only got around 20 minutes before my alarm goes off and I have to check in for the EuroStar home, everything seems to run after everything else, I can't get off the roundabout. The only occasion when time stands still is if you get to the airport early, security is fast and you have the full two hours in a cafe somewhere.

So I'm sitting in Exki and for good reason. I could have gone through the barriers for the Eurostar but I know there's nothing there, nowhere to chill, just a shop selling tacky duty free tatterama and I don't want that, no sir. The friendly woman on the door so to speak told me that there would be an Exki inside the terminal in the new year, which is great. I'll remember that for when I next find myself here in Brussels.

Lastly, I don't know about you, but I really resent having to pay to go to the restrooms. I firmly believe that if "they" could charge you for the air you breathe they would. And something else, lights on timer switches. No! How many times have I fallen foul of them (read one of my previous posts on the Quo Vadis hotel in Udine for more). This time, I was in a cubicle when it went pitch black and again, I found myself waving my arms about trying to get the light to come on again. It did but I decided there and then to use my iphone light for when it goes off again (which it didn't). It's all very annoying. While I get the point of energy saving lights, not in the cubicle of a toilet, have some respect for heaven's sake. The last thing I need is to piss all over the floor because I can't see where I'm aiming. Surely, make sure the lights in the toilets are not on a timer OR that the timer is set to be on for, I don't know, 10-15 minutes. Give people a chance. It's 1648hrs and I've got around 10 minutes before my alarm sounds and I have to make my way to the EuroStar terminal for the last leg of my journey. I simply can't wait to get home, but I can say that it's been a very successful trip.

The ride to London was boring. Having eaten a lot of rubbish, I decided not to tempt myself by visiting the buffet car. I read a bit of my book, The Absence by Budgie, the former drummer of the Banshees. It's a great book and well written. We arrived home bang on time at 1900hrs and then I crossed London on the tube and took a train to my home town.

Meeting Paul Simonon...

It's hardly been a week since I was last here, but I'm back, it's 0511hrs and I'm sitting at a beautiful, old-fashioned wooden desk in room 213 of the Mutterhaus Hotel in the Kaiserswerth district of Dusseldorf. The day is dawning outside of my window and I am surrounded – or so it seems – by the greenery of tall trees, although at present they are in the black and white of the waning night.

A mystic portal at St Pancras station

The Mutterhaus is a fantastic hotel, it's a huge, old, red-bricked building and there is a history that I will tell you about just as soon as find out more about it. The room is wonderful. Wooden floors, two small, upturned shield-shaped windows, the aforementioned desk and bags of room, this is not in anyway cramped and, to make things that little bit better, it's a four-star hotel. Make no mistake, this ain't a corporate-looking hotel, it's set in its own grounds, a bit like the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Italy, and it's no more than around 350 yards from some of the quaintest shops and streets that I know... and a tram stop that will whisk me (in around 10 minutes) to my place of work for the next few days. In other words, I couldn't ask for more.

The last time I was here I decided to take the train from London rather than fly. It's a little more civilised and there's not much in it in terms of cost. I was booked on the 0901 train from St. Pancras International and from the moment I woke up yesterday morning (it's now Monday 12 June as I write this) I wished that I hadn't booked such an early train. But ultimately, I'm glad that I did as later complications with trains would have put me on a considerable back foot. I say 'complications', it wasn't that bad. In essence, when I reached Brussels Midi I was informed that the train to Dusseldorf that I would normally take was basically full and that to wait around for the next available InterCity service – here it's not called that, it's either an ICE train or a service run by Thalys – would have meant an arrival time of gone 2300hrs. The last thing I wanted was to arrive late at night and miss dinner so I opted for local trains (two changes) that got me in around 4pm, which was just perfect and no hassle whatsoever. In fact, everything was smooth-running for which I am grateful.

Eurostar breakfast...on the 0901 to Brussels Midi

I was offered a much-needed lift to East Croydon station from where I jumped aboard a train to Victoria, took the Underground to King's Cross and then, as has been the practice of late, joined the huge queues at the international terminal to go through the arduous process of security followed by passport control. It's far less arduous, I hasten to add, than flying. For a start, you're advised to be at the terminal just one hour before 'take off' and the very thought of not flying makes everything a little less fraught. It helps (in all circumstances to be honest) if you have a decent book 'on the go' and for this trip, I had Stuart Maconie's The Full English which, I must say, is absolutely wonderful, the sort of travel book that I like as the author puts in the travelling, it's not just him writing about places, he's actually visited them, following, in this instance, the route of JB Priestley in his book English Journey. 

Liege station

Getting through security and passport control at St Pancras is far less stress-inducing than being at London Heathrow airport where the regimen is slightly more strained (and officious) as people have the hassle of knowing they have to fly off somewhere; and while yesterday was what British Airways pilots often refer to as 'great flying weather' there's always a bit of me that worries, so to be on the train, travelling on terra firma is just perfect and, as I've said before, no need for taxis to the airport and the grief of having to listen to a racist taxi driver moaning about the Mayor of "Londonistan".

Welkenraedt station

Today was special for another reason. I first noticed the figure of Paul Simonon, erstwhile bassist of punk supergroup the Clash, at the security conveyor where, like me, he was awaiting his suitcase to appear on the other side of the scanner. I didn't twig immediately that it was him, although I did notice he was wearing a brown pinstripe suit and some interesting-looking polished brown boots, which set him apart from your average traveller. In short, he looked good and then suddenly I twigged, it's Paul Simonon from the Clash. I wasn't planning on asking him for a selfie or anything naff of that sort, but I realised that I'd have to ask him it he was really who I thought he was and when I did he said yes and we stopped for an amiable chat. Naturally, I remained calm and collected, although it would be fair to say that I was meeting one of my heroes, something we are always advised against doing. 'Never meet your heroes' they say, but on this occasion it was fine, mainly because Paul Simonon is a decent chap. I began to wonder whether he was impressed that I had recognised him. He's not a 'frontman', a lead singer or lead guitarist so I would like to think he was a little chuffed that I'd strolled over to introduce myself having spotted him a few moments earlier. Remember, Simonon was the bassist of a huge band with an international following and he's still hard at it, working with other cutting edge bands like Gorillaz and engaged with his own important projects. It's hard to work out how rockstars of his standing are going to react when somebody like me, 'from off the street', approaches and identifies them as if they're Chalkey White from the Daily Mirror and I was there to collect my £200. Simonon was as polite as can be, we shook hands and engaged in a shortish, possibly 10-minute, chat in which he told me that he used to live in my home town of Carshalton up until the age of five when he moved to Brixton. He was now on his way to Paris to play a gig. Turns out (I discovered later) that we are both Sagittarians. I was born 10 December, he was born 15 December, but two years earlier. Sadly, I had to run to catch a train, but the meeting with such a punk icon as Paul Simonon remained with me all day and is still glowing brightly as I write this blogpost the following day. In fact, everything pales into insignificance, even the trip here which, all things considered, was pretty uneventful apart from the meeting with Paul Simonon.

Catching the 1522 to Dusseldorf from Aachen

So how did I get here? Well, I jumped aboard the first of two local trains and had to change at Welkenraedt where I waited a short while for a train to Aachen and from there I picked up a train to Dusseldorf. The longest journey was Brussels Midi to Welkenraedt, but Welkenraedt to Aachen was no more than 10 minutes and the journey to Dusseldorf was fairly short. 

Room 213, Mutterhaus Hotel, Dusseldorf...

What really pisses me off about Europe, or certainly Belgium and Germany, is that you have to pay to go to the toilet. This really isn't cricket especially if, like me, you don't carry cash. I was in urgent need (as we all are occasionally) and found myself diving into the Starbucks on Dusseldorf station only to discover that there were no toilets other than those on the platform. To reach the hotel I was told to take the U79 tram, but when I reached the platform there was nothing doing for at least half an hour so I broke the habit of a life time and took a cab, a cream-coloured Merc from outside the station, and was whisked to the Mutterhaus in around 15 minutes. I was abroad so there was no taxi driver racism. In fact, I made a decision not to strike up a conversation, mainly because there would clearly be a language barrier, but also because I wasn't in the mood to make small talk.

Cake at Schuster – really good!

I checked in and then raced to room 213 in order to relieve myself (I just made it!) and then I took a stroll as directed towards the nearest tram stop (Klemensplatz) and the most amazing little café, Schuster, which offered some equally amazing (and I mean amazing) cakes. Naturally, I ordered one. I watched as a young woman ahead of me ordered around half a dozen and had to resist making a wisecrack that would clearly have been lost in translation so I didn't bother. She waltzed off in her sequinned miniskirt with her cakes (surely not all for her) and then it was my turn. I ordered the cake you can see in the photograph above and it was fantastic. The sun was shining and I sat there with the cake and a cappuccino reading Maconie's The Full English in the heat. This, I thought, was the life, and decided on the spur of the moment to suggest to my wife that she and my daughter join me, "just jump on a flight to Dusseldorf on Friday and I'll meet you at the airport" said I impulsively in a text, having thought it through for all of five minutes, but of course we are short of cash (I'm not an international rockstar like Paul Simonon) and eventually the idea was scrapped and we talked instead of a 'proper holiday' meaning Spain or elsewhere, somewhere hot with a swimming pool. Not that the cash situation will be improving any time soon. Unfortunately, we just don't have the money and I'm now considering freelance work. Whilst in Detroit I found a hotel industry magazine in the lobby of the Doubletree in Windsor, Ontario. I 'stole' it and have it on my person now so I'm planning to drop the editor an email over the next couple of days to see if he fancies a UK correspondent. I used to write a lot about hotels and I'm still writing reviews for Trip Advisor – which pays Jack Shit – so perhaps there's some extra money to be made.

View from room 213, Mutterhaus

I dined in an Italian restaurant, Massimo's, along the cobbled streets close to the Rhine – mozzarella and tomato, spaghetti bolognaise, a large bottle of Pellegrino mineral water and a no-alcohol beer, all very civilised as the heat continued into the evening. Then I strolled back, not really wanting to return to the hotel, so I looked in closed shop windows and slowly made my way back, resigning myself to a lonely evening in front of the television. I found the BBC (channel 98) and watched the news about Boris Johnson stepping down as an MP (good riddance, I can't stand the fat cunt) and the other MPs who have stepped down too, like the menopausal munter and others, none of whom deserve to be politicians. There were other stories, but I can't remember them, one was about a boat crash in the Red Sea, but then I switched channels and watched Avengers: End Game, which was dubbed over in German but still understandable.

After faffing around with the lighting and discovering that I could dim the desk light, I switched off every other light and lie on top of the bed in the continuing heat thinking about nothing in particular and simply staring at the ceiling, looking out at the trees through one of my two upturned-shield windows. Eventually I nodded off but would awake occasionally through the night only to find myself staring at the ceiling again until I fell asleep. At around 0430hrs I was fully awake but I left it until 0500hrs before I jumped out of bed and started to write this blogpost. It's now 0635hrs and my thoughts have turned to breakfast. I'll probably go down there before I shower and then come back and prepare myself for the day ahead.

Schuster – a great café selling excellent cakes

The sun is already out. The trees that were monochrome in the early morning light are now green and vibrant, I can hear the sound of crows and other birds as they go about their business and I'm starting to wonder about the breakfast offering. As I've said before, you can tell a lot about a hotel from the standard of its breakfast.

I started to wonder what Paul Simonon was doing. He's probably awake in a hotel room in Paris somewhere having played a gig last night; or perhaps his first gig is tonight, who knows? He might not be in a hotel, he might have pals in the French capital putting him up for a couple of days. Either way he's experiencing the heat of the early morning and hopefully looking forward to the day ahead.

Dusseldorf to London by train...

Over breakfast on Friday morning I made sure that, after using the hot water dispenser for my green tea, I switched it off; the last thing I wanted was the old crab coming out from under her stone to berate me for flooding the floor again. After dispensing the water, I lifted up the handle and, lo and behold, it kind of switched itself to the 'on' position and needed an additional upwards 'flick' to be considered in the off position.

My breakfast was a carbon copy of the day before: cereal with strawberry yoghurt and a couple of mini pastries. I looked around at the overall offering and there was nothing else that appealed. I didn't want cheese or cooked meats, I couldn't be bothered with the sausages and scrambled eggs and I wasn't interested in a hard-boiled egg. I got up, returned to the room and started the process of packing stuff away. I wasn't going to have a shower, but decided that I shouldn't be such a slob so I indulged in a long, long shower, enjoying every minute of it before realising that enough is enough and then stepping out and drying myself down.

I decided to check out early and leave my bags at the hotel.

Köln Cathedral, Friday 2nd June 2023

There is never enough time for anything and I noticed a potential problem lurking when I looked at my travel documentation. The train from Köln to Brussels Midi was departing at 1242hrs and the woman who arranged my travel back in Brussels on Wednesday afternoon had me on a train from Dusseldorf to Köln at noon. Somehow I knew that leaving just 12 minutes to find the connection was not enough, assuming the journey time was 30 minutes, so I forfeited what I'd hope would be a pleasant walk recorded on Strava and went to check out the situation at the station's information desk. This is another good reason for staying in a hotel just a short walk from a mainline station. The journey from the Madison was easily under five minutes.

Now, I won't lie to you and say that the roads around the station are genteel and pleasant, they're not, but equally it's not THAT bad. There are many donor kebab shops and mobile phone outlets and sometimes those wandering around look a bit, well, you know, not exactly the sort of people you'd like to spend the evening with, but it's not dangerous. Furthermore, as I've already said, the Novum Madison is not the swishest hotel in town – it still has room keys for heaven's sake – but, as I've said, it's clean, comfortable and friendly and the breakfast is fine too so I'm not complaining. I can imagine that some people will come out of Dusseldorf's central station and want to get as far away as possible from the sex shops, the kebab restaurants and the men who seem to do nothing but sit on plastic chairs drinking tea all day, but I love this part of the city, mainly because I don't engage with it; I go straight to the Madison without passing go or collecting £200 and once inside, that's it, there's Karlstrasse, my favourite restaurant, I have all I need. And just for the record, I never visit the sex shops either, they're all too much of a cliche and I would say, outdated, past their prime, no longer relevant.

Köln Cathedral, another angle...

I was told by the DB information desk on the station that there were many trains going to Köln so I opted for the 1044hrs train and then walked for a short while before returning to the Madison to collect my bags and jump on the train to Köln, a local train, meaning no reserved seats and a journey of no more than half an hour. Perfect.

A word or two about my suitcase. It's a bit like a frisky dog who is too much to handle. For a start it's on four sets of casters, meaning it doesn't have to be tilted but can remain upright and simply pushed along. The problems arise if I forget to hold on to it because it then races off alone and will happily travel the length of the railway carriage with me running behind it; it's happened a couple of times on this trip and now I hold tightly to the handle to stop it bounding off and crashing into a fellow passenger further along the carriage. In all honesty, for these shorter trips I need a smaller case, preferably even a rucksack. I saw a really nice one in the Samsonite shop at St Pancras International.

When I reached Köln there was over an hour to kill before the 1242 departed for Brussels, but once again, while it's easy to think there's a lot of time, the reality is different. Once I'd had a cappuccino and a bun in Starbucks (it was the last thing I'd eat for the rest of the day) it was time to find platform eight and board the train. I was sitting by the window and once again I didn't have a full window, but it didn't matter as I sat there reading and eventually fell asleep for around an hour. When I awoke we were in Liege and time flew by fast as we soon arrived in Brussels Midi. I went straight away to the Eurostar terminal and checked in and then found that there were no foodservice outlets beyond passport control, only a retail offering, so I didn't bother. I had a bottle of mineral water that I'd purchased at the Starbucks in Köln so I finished that and ate nothing more until I reached home.They say that drinking water fights off hunger and it's true.

What I've always hated is the Society of the Spectacle, not the book, but the reality. I thought it was reserved for international airports, but no, it's at the Eurostar terminal in Brussels too. Cigarettes, booze, perfume and because there's no foodservice outlet, packaged sandwiches too. I did my usual trick and used one of the testers, I must have smelled good. In fact I know I did because the perfume (it was called Explorer) was pretty potent, just how I like it, although I might have overdone it. That said, when I later walked through the door at home nobody passed comment.

Three fridge magnets from Dusseldorf, Köln and Brussels

The journey from Brussels to London took around two hours, probably a little more, but it was fairly smooth even if the train had been delayed by around 25 minutes. Sitting next to me was a management consultant who had some kind of diversity role to play within a firm of solicitors. She was very pleasant and we enjoyed a decent conversation about racism and Brexit and eventually the train arrived at St Pancras and we said goodbye. Oddly I never told her my name and she didn't tell me hers, which is fair enough. She lived in London but originated from Lagos in Nigeria.

I took the tube to Victoria without encountering any problems and then an overground train to Sanderstead from where I pushed my unruly suitcase all the way home in the sunshine, listening to the grating sound of plastic casters against tarmac as I walked along the streets. Soon I was home and eventually I decided upon an early night, but not before I placed my three fridge magnets – from Dusseldorf, Köln and Brussels – on the fridge door. I've got to go back in fortnight's time but I doubt I'll be buying anymore fridge magnets, that would be ridiculous.

London to Dusseldorf by train...

The day, Wednesday 31st May 2023, started with a negative edge in the shape of a train strike. I don't even know why there was a strike. I thought things had been sorted out weeks ago. But no, they clearly haven't been, and as far as I knew when I woke up, the strike was total and there was no way I was going to get a straightforward ride into town from my local station, a mere seven minutes' walk from where I live. I don't like taking taxis at the best of times: first, I think they're a rip-off and should only be used if absolutely necessary, like last month's trip to Detroit, which started with a cab ride because I had too much 'stuff' to carry. But when it's just a suitcase, depending on its weight, I prefer public transport, not that it was on offer. 

"I haven't got a cab for at least an hour," said the man at the other end of the telephone when I called my local cab company. Fine, I'll have to work something out. Another reason not to like taking a cab is the racist small talk. I don't want to listen to some Brexiteer moaning about the Mayor of London or referring to the capital as 'Londonistan'.

31/5/23 leaving London at 1104hrs.

I managed to get a lift to East Croydon (from where there were no trains) but I had already figured on using the Tramlink service to Wimbledon and then jumping on a tube train from there, all the way to St. Pancras International. I was supposed to 'tap in' with my debit card before I boarded the tram (I later discovered) but had been told otherwise by a woman on the platform; and I'm now starting to wonder whether she deliberately fed me with duff information, she was, after all, a seasoned tram user herself (or so I initially thought) and should have told me to tap in on the platform, like she had probably done. Anyway, it was all academic as the inspectors rarely jump on the tram (a friendly postman told me) and it turned out he was right. In other words I managed to dodge the fare all the way to Wimbledon and that was simply because I didn't want to risk getting up, running to the tap-in point on the platform and then missing the train and watching it pull out of the station with my suitcase full of clothes and a laptop. I think I would have preferred a fine to that awful fate. Still, it never happened and I jumped on to the platform at Wimbledon to discover (much to my surprise) that there were trains from Wimbledon into town. Good old South West Trains, I thought. I was advised to alight at Vauxhall, change to the Victoria Line and ride all the way to King's Cross, which is what I did. Perfect! 

I had arrived with loads of time to spare, but then again, not really. They were already beckoning people travelling on the 1104 to Amsterdam to 'go through security' so in I went and soon I emerged on the other side. I was up very early, something crazy like 0500hrs, so five hours later I was in need of sustenance and a cup of tea. I also invested in an almond croissant, but I started to wish I hadn't. Sometimes I wonder if I need to eat or whether it's a comfort thing. My sister called. We talked about mum who had fallen over again, she's fine though. I then sat there awaiting the time for boarding and soon I was travelling up to platform 9 on the moving walkway and looking forward to taking my seat in coach four (seat 98). Everything was smooth-running. Eurostar, incidentally, was not on strike. I was travelling to Brussels Midi and the plan was to pick up another train to Dusseldorf from Köln (Cologne). 

A beer in Brussels

As I emerged from the tunnel and found myself on the European side of the English Channel I noted, as always, that the roads were empty. We whistled through Calais Frethun, a station I remember from a trip I took some time ago when editing another magazine. I remember sitting there on the lonely, quiet and virtually empty station drinking a bottle of Kronenbourg 1664. I can't remember where I was going or why, but I'll always remember the desolation of the platform and a strange sense of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. 

It's been four years since I was last in Brussels just ahead of the lockdown. I think it was November 2019. I remember looking at watches in a Swatch shop and eventually buying one (in London) that I'd seen while in Belgium's capital city (at least I think it's the capital city). 

I decided not to get the 1425 train, which ultimately stopped at Frankfurt and was about to depart for Dusseldorf from platform 3. Instead I waited for the 1622, which would get me into Dusseldorf at 1900hrs. My decision was influenced by the fact that I couldn't book a seat, it was too late for that, and I didn't fancy all the potential grief of standing up and not being able to sit down. A seven o'clock arrival time was still early in my book. It was, therefore, time for lunch in La Brasserie de la Gare across the road from Brussels Midi station. I'd been there before, although I know not when, but certainly pre-pandemic. I ordered a pasta dish, which was very pleasant, and two small bottles of Leffe 00, which turned out to be very nice indeed. The sun was shining down, there were blue skies and, as it was only hours away from being June, I guess it was the perfect summer's day.

Waiting for the Koln train...

I needed to buy an adaptor but couldn't find a shop that sold them and almost risked missing my train, so I pulled myself together and vowed to check out the electronics shops in Dusseldorf if there was time. There wasn't. There never is. The journey was pleasant, mainly because nobody was sitting next to me, although I didn't have a full window, which was annoying. I sat there reading Murakami, eating a Twix and drinking English Breakfast tea from a paper mug. Having experienced the journey before by train I immediately remembered Liege when the train arrived. I remembered Aachen station from a trip I took ages and ages ago; I think I was en route to Dortmund and then a place called Ludenscheid (that was a drunken trip if I recall. I was 19 years old). I stayed in the Hotel Zum Adler and probably still have the receipt as I think it was my first ever trip abroad way, way back in the mists of time.

The train took me as far as Köln and I had a 15-minute wait for a local train to Dusseldorf, arriving around 1900hrs.

It was good to be back in my favourite German city and I wasted no time in walking to the Novum Madison Hotel from where I write this post. It's not a flash hotel by any means, but I've stayed here before (during a very hot summer's week in June 2019) and it was all I needed. I'm not one for flash hotels, can't stand them, especially those huge corporate places full of suits. Don't get me wrong, the Madison is not dirty or down at heel in any way, it's just an average hotel close to the central station and it offers proper room keys, none of that key card crapola. The check-in was easy and I took the small and silent lift to the third floor and room 304, which was literally on my right as I stepped out. I felt a bit miffed at the fact that my room was so close to the elevator as it meant that I would hear everybody who passed my door, even if they arrived late or were coming back from some drunken revelry in the early hours. Again, I wasn't really bothered as it's quite pleasant lying there in the dark listening to the comings and goings of strangers. I remember once, in a Quality Inn on the wrong side of town in Pittsburgh, listening to a couple arguing in the next room. I wondered whether one or both of them were packing pieces and whether the sound of gunfire might have disturbed the peace of the early morning. Nothing happened. 

Room 304, Novum Madison

My room at the Madison was very similar to the room I had here four years ago – in fact it was identical – and for a while I thought it was the same room, but it wasn't as the room I had in 2019 (room 416) overlooked Karlstrasse, the road on which my favourite restaurant, Da Bruno, resides. Check out how similar the two rooms are by clicking here.

After sorting myself out – and by that I mean putting all my clothes in the wardrobe and kind of 'setting up shop' – I was ready to go out and have dinner. Da Bruno hasn't changed a bit. In fact it's the same people running it and they remembered me, which is always good. They do have more competition than when I was here last. For a start, the sex supermarket across the road has gone and has thankfully been replaced by a restaurant, and there were two or three new eateries virtually next door. I had the strange feeling that they wouldn't be as good as Da Bruno so I didn't bother investigating. I certainly had no intention of 'pulling up a chair' as I was intent on enjoying 'my favourite restaurant'. By and large, it hasn't really changed, although I did wonder about the portion sizes. I ordered Parma ham and melon – yes, I know, a very dated dish if ever there was one, and I swear it was smaller and less impressive than the same dish I ordered four years earlier. It wasn't worth complaining about. In fact, less ham is far better for me, so I accepted it, not that I would have said anything. For mains I chose pappardelle with mushrooms and I didn't bother with dessert. I took the liberty of booking a table (for one) for the following night (tonight) at 2000hrs as I really can't be bothered to go trawling around the city looking for somewhere decent to eat. Perhaps I should do that, I've done it many times before but have always ended up settling for second best and then feeling disappointed and eager to pay up and get back to the hotel. It's currently 1921hrs, so in around 40 minutes from now I'll be heading on over there. Perhaps Da Bruno had simply lost the pizzazz of presentation, perhaps there had been a change of chef, I don't know, but it was still my favourite restaurant whichever way I looked at it even if the mushrooms in my pasta dish were just bog standard, nothing special, which, perhaps, they might have been four years earlier. In truth I don't know.

View from room 304

Today is Thursday. I spent most of Wednesday travelling and I'll be honest, I prefer it to flying. Cost-wise there's not much in it. The 188 Euros I spent on a return ticket to Dusseldorf from Brussels was less than the two £80 + taxis I would have needed to ferry me to and from the airport – and I would definitely have taken a taxi to the airport yesterday rather than endure public transport during a strike (the ride to St Pancras sans strike is a doddle depending on how much luggage I have and how heavy it is).

A sleepless night awaited me. I awoke around 0200hrs – I didn't know what time it was until I turned on the television as my iphone had run out of power and I didn't have a watch. I remember looking at my watch before I left home and thinking 'do I need it?' No, I must have thought. Note to self: always wear a watch on foreign trips.

Having woken up in the very early hours, I spent a fretful time hoping that if I did fall asleep I would wake up in time to get a train to Mönchengladbach. I was worried about the journey because I couldn't find a thing on Trainline and started to think there might be some kind of problem. So I drifted in and out of sleep, having strange dreams I can barely remember in great detail. I was out of bed by around 0530hrs, but then I simply lay there until around 0600hrs when I had a shower, shaved and got ready for the day ahead.

Starter at Da Bruno

Breakfast was fine: a bowl of cereal with added strawberry yoghurt plus two mini pastries and a mug of green tea. As I sat there, in a kind of sleepy daze, a bespectacled old crab appeared in front of me and started to berate me for leaving the water tap on when I made my tea. In all honesty I'm not sure this is 100% true as it's a natural reaction to turn the tap off, ie stop the flow of water, before removing the cup, which is what I did; so whether it somehow came on without my knowledge after I'd gone back to my table, I'll never know. But basically I took the bollocking, if that's what it was. Well, it wasn't so much a bollocking, just her telling me I did it and me sitting there looking dazed and confused and dressed like a clown with huge red shoes and a red nose (not really). Rather than continue sitting there on a kind of metaphorical 'naughty step' I got up and left.

Breakfast over I headed for Dusseldorf Central Station, mere minutes from the Madison, and jumped aboard the 0848 train to Mönchengladbach after spending a considerable amount of time messing around with the ticket vending machine. I spent most of the day in a meeting before walking a good 7km from the meeting place back to the railway station in the afternoon heat, hoping for the joy of a friendly gust of wind, always most welcomed in the summer heat. I took a suburban train back to Dusseldorf and then, after a little bit of work, I went out for my second sitting at Da Bruno. Today I ordered Mozzarella with tomato followed by a rather staid-looking spaghetti bolognaise and finished off with tiramisu. Yes, I wish I hadn't bothered with dessert, and because I was feeling so guilty about it I decided to walk to the Alt Stadt (old town). I reached the Rhine, took a photograph and then walked back and now I am in my hotel room, tired and ready for bed. I hope I burned off a few calories to compensate for that dessert. I'd better hit the sack. I need to be out of the hotel before noon as that's when my train for Köln departs. It's 2245 as I write this and I have my phone working again so I can set an alarm, although I don't really need to as there's no work tomorrow. I'll probably take a wander around town but in a different direction, check out a few shops, possibly have a coffee somewhere (I've been drinking a lot of English Breakfast tea) and then head for the station which, as I said, is but a five-minute walk from the hotel. It'll be a long day tomorrow but not half as stressful as flying. I'll sit on board the train, I've got a book to read, I don't need to be preoccupied with a flight and what's going on outside the window, I can just relax and chill, which is all I really want to do.

On my way to the old town after dinner, burning calories...

It's now Friday morning, 2nd June 2023 and it's 0602hrs. I'm going to throw some warm water over my face and then head down for breakfast. After that it's anyone's guess what I'll do next. I'll definitely pack things away and then check out and I'll probably leave my luggage with the concierge, not that there is a concierge at the Madison, it'll be whoever is on the front desk. Lots of hotels don't have a concierge and the word is often used in connection with leaving bags to be picked up later. I'm looking forward to the journey home because trains are involved. I don't have to be there two hours before take-off, I don't have to take the Sky Train to the airport, go through security, keep an eye on the weather, there's nothing fretful apart from the trains being late, which I hope they won't be. Germany's pretty good on stuff like punctuality, but let's not count chickens.

Maxplatz...

I often ask myself why I like Dusseldorf and why I refer to it as my 'favourite city'. One reason is its closeness to the UK. A flight from London varies from 55 to 70 minutes and once you land it's only a short journey to the centre of town, unlike the deal in London when you've got an expensive taxi ride into town. Then there's the fact that it's relatively safe here, that's why I wandered alone towards the old town last night. People are out enjoying themselves in the bars and restaurants that line the streets. Last night my stroll started on Bismarckstrasse – now that's an interesting road – and I walked in roughly a straight line all the way down to the Rhine and then back again. I've stayed in a few hotels here too, the Burns Art Hotel, the Friends hotel and the Mercure, and probably others too, and they've all been pleasant. Then there's my favourite restaurant and, of course, the generally friendly vibe of the city. I used to say my favourite city was Portland, Oregon, because of Powell's Books, the world's biggest bookstore and for other reasons, such as the Ace Hotel on First Avenue, but I haven't had cause to return and things, sadly, have taken a turn for the worse, thanks to Fentanyl addiction and possibly other forms of dereliction. I've been watching a few reports on YouTube and it's sad to see a city fall from grace in such a big way, but that won't stop me returning there one day, if only to spend the night in the Ace Hotel. I'd better get ready for breakfast.

I reached the Rhine as the sun started to set...

On the 0817hrs Dusseldorf to Paris Nord train (heading for Brussels)...

When I woke up this morning it was only 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Most of the week it’s been in the high eighties. That’s not to say it won’t get hotter as the day progresses. I’m on board the 0817 train to Paris Nord, although I’m getting off at Brussels Midi. I’m sitting in seat 14, coach 22, right at the back of the train, but the carriage is virtually empty, the seat wide and I’m as happy as Larry looking out at the passing landscape.

One thing I noticed on the journey from Brussels to Dusseldorf - and I’m now reminded of as the train slows down as we arrive in Cologne - is that the Germans really love their allotments. I’ve never seen such elaborate sheds, some sporting their own back gardens, most with net curtains; the Germans really make themselves at home and their sheds could easily double as houses, places where people could live.

We have stopped on a railway bridge over the Rhine, right in the middle. I remember walking over this bridge back in 2007, or thereabouts, but I can’t remember exactly why I was in Cologne, although it was probably something to do with the international potato processing industry or food manufacturing in some shape or form.

We have arrived in Cologne and loads of people are now standing to my right with their suitcases. To my immediate right is a south east Asian couple are trying to put their massive suitcases in the racks over the seats. Miraculously, they’ve succeeded and now a steady flow of people are pushing their suitcases in front of them. Just when I thought the journey was going to be silent, I can hear the apologies. “I’m so sorry”, “excuse me, sir” and “sorry about that”. These are all holidaymakers in shorts and tee-shirts and trainers, a world alien to me.

The train is edging out of the platform, we pass the Merian Hotel and the backs of apartment blocks and then Cologne Hansaring station on which more holidaymakers stand waiting for a train. The train picks up speed and it won’t be long before we leave the city behind.

The guards have been round checking the tickets, always a nervous moment for me for some reason, but all my documents were in order and now the food trolley, but I want for nothing; I’ve eaten breakfast and that’s enough until I reach Brussels Midi. Although I’ve just heard it’s complimentary and I have the choice of sweet or salty. No, I must resist and I do so easily - until I’m offered a croissant. “Orange joose, multi-vitamin?” He’s moved up the carriage as we pass through a town and back into the fields.

Outside the sun is shining, the wind farms are still and the skies are blue apart from one solitary cloud expanding like ink on blotting paper as it splurges from some kind of industrial plant. It’s lovely out there. Everything is bathed in sunshine, everything is still, blinds are down, umbrellas are up. All is quiet.

Some of the passengers are tucking in to their breakfasts, sipping water or fruit juice, and I’m looking out of the window at the woods where all is still.

I was up at 0600hrs this morning and I’d had a fairly good sleep, mainly because I was packing stuff away last night and didn’t hit the sack until around midnight. Compared to earlier in the week the heat of the night had gone, but I kept the windows open as it was nice to listen to the city before nodding off to sleep. I was in the hotel breakfast room at just gone 0630 having showered and shaved last night in order to save time in the morning. Mint tea, yoghurt, a couple of mini pastries, cereal and that was my lot. No scrambled egg or fresh fruit this morning. Check-out was quick and soon I found myself on the railway station passing the time by reading English newspapers. The very thought of going back there depressed me: Boris Johnson, Brexit and all those associated with it. I’ve avoided watching television all week and my only contact with the UK has been through the BBC website.

Ebbsfleet, I'm back in the UK and not happy about it...

We’re in Aachen. After a short stop the train lurches out of the station and I fall asleep only to awake at Liege, but I thought we might have arrived in Brussels. Panicking slightly, but knowing deep down that we can’t possibly be there just yet, I jumped up and asked the guard. “Liege, Belgium,” he says and with a sigh of relief I went back to my seat. It’s 0953hrs and we’re due to arrive in Brussels at 1035. 

Trains always make me sleepy, but that’s what’s nice about them. Liege is nice too, what I can see of it. The town is surrounded by wooded hills, but it’s a picturesque sort of place with tall, narrow, close-knit townhouses. And now we’re passing through Ans. Within seconds there are fields and once again the sleepy, sunny stillness returns and I am reminded of what my life knows as ‘the magical year’, 1989, when all was good with the world, the Berlin Wall came down and I enjoyed a fantastic holiday in Menton, South of France. We travelled there by train and I remember the return journey when the weather was similar to what it is now. This was before the recession hit and redundancy loomed and I felt angry with the world for the first time in my life. Up until the start of 1990 I had no real gripes with my position in the world, but after 1990 things started to go wrong and the United Kingdom of today was born and by that I mean a distrustful place full of career politicians and angry, bigoted people. Perhaps for others this awful world had arrived earlier, who knows? But for me, 1989 was the last of the good years, the end, if you like, of innocence. After 1989 I lost friends, I lost jobs and I lost respect, there was nothing but uncertainty in all spheres of life and it has continued physically, mentally, politically and professionally.

Cake and a mug of ginger orange tea...

Travelling through Europe as I am right now on a Thalys train, through the fields and towns and sitting here in comfort writing and admiring the passing countryside, I find it odd to think that my country, the United Kingdom, has voted to leave the European Union. When I arrived at Dusseldorf Hbf this morning I was wondering if there was any way of giving up my British citizenship and just becoming a ‘European’ of no fixed abode, meaning not British, not French, not German, just a European. I think I’d simply like to stop being British, it’s such a pile of poo, especially if it’s going to be headed up by that huge, obese buffoon, Boris Johnson. The thought of that oaf representing me is abhorent. It makes me angry, although I think the real cause of my anger right now is the fact that I’m going home. Sooner or later I’ll be returning to the United Kingdom and I’m not happy about it.

Trendy, yes, but a great piece of cake!

When I arrived at Brussels Midi I found that I had to pay to take a piss. I remember reading somewhere, I think it was Chomsky, who said ‘they’ - the man - would charge for the air we breathe if there was a way. They make it complicated here just to take a wazz. First you have to buy a token and then insert the token in the wall and magically a door opens. I’m sitting in a cafe now, a place with a weird name, like EXKI It’s a bit trendy, but not too much and I’ve just purchased an excellent slice of cake and a ginger orange with vanilla tea, it’s great! I’ve decided that for the month of July, no cake, no chocolates, no biscuits. Thirty one days of abstinence should sort me out. I feel as if I’m putting on weight so all the crap has to stop, pure and simple.

In Dusseldorf...in the sweltering heat

I arrived in Dusseldorf around 2000hrs and walked the short distance to my hotel, the Novum Madison. Check-in was reasonably straightforward, although I hadn't bought in to their breakfast offering. This I quickly rectified and was surprised to be given a key with the number of my room on a blue piece of plastic or Perspex or whatever it's made from.

Room 416, Novum Madison, Dusseldorf

Reaching the room proved a little confusing. In fact, even now, I'm not exactly sure what floor I'm on. I pressed the button in the lift for the fourth floor, assuming room 416 would be on the fourth floor, but it's confusing. Anyway, eventually, I got there and found a relatively basic room with pine furniture, a safe that doesn't open, probably because the previous guest left it that way. I was reminded of my recent trip to Pittsburgh and decided not to mention the safe to the guys on reception. Who knows where I'd end up later in the week?

The view from room 416, Novum Madison

I dropped off my bags and headed straight for my favourite restaurant, which is literally a five-minute walk away: Parma ham with melon (I know, very seventies, very droll, but I fancied it) a non-alcohol beer and pasta arrabiatta. They'd run out of non-alcohol beer, probably on account of the hot weather, so I ordered a bottle of mineral water instead and decided not to have dessert. The bill was only 30.10 Euros.

There's an entrance to my hotel across the road from the restaurant, very convenient, I thought, and when I reached the lifts I decided it would be less confusing to take the stairs and possibly less hassle too. The lift appears to be slow and it takes an age from when I press the button for my floor for the doors to close, that's another reason why I hopped out and took the stairs. Besides, the exercise will do me good, I thought, as I started the climb.

Much needed...

Back in the room, I flicked through the television channels, but found nothing in English, even The Big Bang Theory was dubbed over in German and it was weird to see Sheldon Cooper speaking a foreign language. It was around 2100hrs that I hit the sack. I'd left the window open because of the heat and listened to the city: the sound of passing cars, the distant conversation of anonymous individuals on the streets below, the rumblings of trams. I slept through until around 0400hrs and then lie there awake listening to the outside world. At one stage I got up and texted a colleague. "It's fucking hot". That was at 0427, before I decided to go back to bed. The birds started to tweet outside, but it was still dark. Soon it lightened up and now I sit here writing this at 0610hrs. Breakfast is served from 0630 so I'm going to take shower and head on down there.

The heat continued throughout the day. It was so hot that I had to return to my hotel room for another shower in the late afternoon and change my shirt, and then I headed back to the other side of town to continue my working day, which didn't end until gone 2100hrs. I took a taxi back to the hotel and had an enjoyable conversation with the driver. He was a photographer and a cab driver and had been doing the latter for some 20 years. He enjoyed his job and was currently working a five-day week because of a big convention in town, the one I was attending. He lived in Leeds for two years and knew the Yorkshire region well. I told him I loved Dusseldorf and would love to live in the city, which he took as a compliment. It is a great place, very friendly.

Also much needed...

I couldn't stay in the room for long, it was far too hot and there was no air-con. Fortunately, it's possible to open the windows, but I still had to get out and decided to go for a walk as the daylight faded. I found myself in a small supermarket, Rewe, and wandered around, checking out peppermint tea and bars of chocolate, but not really thinking about the hot night ahead. I left empty-handed and had to return to buy two huge bottles of Felsensteiner 'medium' mineral water. The 'medium' refers to the fizziness, which is subtle.

The area around the hotel is not the best, but then anywhere near a railway station is normally pretty grim. There were sex shops for all persuasions and table dancing joints and places of that ilk, not to forget a few shady characters sitting on benches alone or congregating in groups. But they didn't seem to bother anybody and more normal people mingled in the twilight, drinking or dining alfresco outside the occasional bar or cafe. Nothing appealed to me, apart from a bunch of bananas and the mint tea. I only bought the water, which I am now sipping in order to rehydrate. I've been drinking water all day long and I'll probably repeat the process tomorrow. I'm going to hit the sack, but you might hear from me again if getting to sleep in the heat proves problematic.

In Dusseldorf – once again...

There were problems and they could have upset the applecart. First, I could have missed my flight thanks to my lolling about at home, basking in time I didn't really have. It was a bit like Aviles, Spain, when I was staring at my air ticket for days without realising I'd got it all wrong. I won't bore you with the details, but the problems I encountered – which were all of my own making – are alluded to in previous posts.

So the same thing is happening. I'm upstairs, I'd even considered a haircut, but then I check my air ticket and realise I'm cutting it more than fine on getting to the airport on time. So I call my cab company and pay over the telephone using my credit card. Within five minutes a cab arrives and I'm heading to Terminal Five, Heathrow at double quick speed. And when I got there they hadn't even displayed the gate. I used the Fast Track access to security (I asked nicely, told her my dilemma, that I was running late) and soon I was flight side with a few minutes to spare before the gate was displayed, gate A17.

The view from seat 10F...

I got on the plane, took my seat (10F, the exit row, so loads more legroom than usual) and then it was just a matter of waiting for the plane to be pushed back from the jetty and off we go; except that the machine used to push the plane was a little too heavy-handed. I noticed it, but nobody else seeemed to, the judder, and soon the captain was on the intercom telling us that the plane had been jolted a little too hard and there was damage to the nose of the aircraft. With our safety in mind he decided that the plane needed to be worked on in the hangar so he found us another plane and we headed for Dusseldorf around 1730hrs – not the scheduled 1510hrs. It was fine as it gave me a chance to eat something (ciabatta with pesto and mozzarella, a cup of tea and a cookie). It also meant that I didn't spend any money on the plane. Instead I flicked through the High Life magazine, read John Simpson's column (which was on the fall of the Berlin Wall) and then skimmed through Business Life, the Shop magazine and the M&S food menu.

The flight took around 55 minutes, I sailed through passport control, took the train to the centre of town having first used the Sky Train to the airport's railway station, and then walked from Dusseldorf Hbf to the Wyndham Garden, which is alright. I nipped out for something to eat and after wandering the streets in the dark for about 15-20 minutes decided that Sofra Gastronomietetriebe on Graf-Adolf-Strasse would be alright: it was. Nothing to write home about, but just fitted the bill. I ordered Piccata di Pollo and a couple of Becks Blue (no alcohol beer) and then finished off Renegade: the lives and tales of Mark E. Smith. A great book and a truly great bloke.

The internet was down in the restaurant so I had to pay with cash (EUR22.10) which was fairly reasonable. Just as well I drew some out at the airport! I couldn't face a dessert so I left the restaurant and walked the short walk back to the hotel from where I write this blog post.

On the way back to the hotel I noticed that this weekend (29th April) is the Dusseldorf Marathon. There was a sign saying as much strapped to a pole.