The desolation of Mogg...

Breakfast was fine. Not brilliant, but fine. Why not brilliant? It was plenty to do with the hard chairs and the glass roof, which lent a kind of basic feel to the whole experience, but they had everything one might expect from a hotel breakfast room. There were sausages, scrambled egg, sautéed potatoes, a variety of breads, including croissants, yoghurt, fresh fruit, cereals, tea and coffee and fresh fruit juice. I chose a bowl of fresh fruit and a bowl of yoghurt plus a banana, some scrambled egg with sautéed potato and a cup of English breakfast tea. Tea is always such a faff as it is contained in a sachet that needs to be opened – sometimes a big problem – plonked in a cup into which hot water must be poured and so on; that's the problem with self-service, I tend to get fed up with the process.

Why the long face?

Earlier, in the room, I had a small battle on my hands with some unruly coathangers, which hadn't bothered me last night purely because I'd left everything in my suitcase. Flustered from the experience and still smarting a little from the locked minibar and safe I left the room to have my breakfast and it was something I was looking forward to despite the fact that I had absolutely nothing to read; and there's nowt better than a book or a newspaper with a hotel breakfast. But then again it wasn't a cosy breakfast space so reading a book or a newspaper wouldn't have been as good as it might have been in a less basic, and slightly more cosy, environment – a softer chair, perhaps, a tablecloth, waitress service, tea brought to my table rather than me faffing around trying to open a teabag prior to immersing it in hot water. But then I guess you get what you pay for and one thing I won't do is complain too loudly about the Mercure City Center because it is what it is and in many ways it's a cut above so the only causes for complaint that I can see are the locked safe and minibar, the unruly coathangers and the bathroom. Well, not the whole bathroom, just the hot water situation, particularly in the shower: it wouldn't warm up and the only way to make it hot enough to use was turn the lever in such a way that the flow was severely limited to just a dribble; it was the same with the sink tap. It made showering less of a pleasure than it might of been, that's all, but still it's another negative to add to the locked minibar, the locked safe, the unruly coathangers – you know the ones I mean, not proper hangers with hooks but those you can't get off the rail. I found myself thinking that the hotel doesn't trust its guests – they can't trust them to tell the truth when asked "did you use the minibar" so they lock it; they don't believe their guests will have anything worth putting in a safe, so they lock that too, and because they think their guests will half-inch the coathangers, they provide the unruly variety. "That'll teach them!"

I decided to wander about town in search of a decent restaurant. To be honest I wasn't really sure what I wanted. I started first with the internet and keyed in 'Italian restaurants in Dusseldorf' but the best ones, according to Trip Advisor, were a good 25-minute walk away and I really wasn't inspired enough to go on some kind of trek. In the end I wandered out having checked the menu of the hotel restaurant. I've dined here before and it's not brilliant, although in retrospect it would have been fine. But still I wandered, up past the Thai restaurant next door to the Burns Art Hotel and around some of the surrounding streets. I passed Jaipur, an Indian restaurant, and suddenly thought I fancied a curry. If I'm honest, I didn't. I just wanted to get off the street and into somewhere cosy where I could chill for a while. Jaipur wasn't really it, and while I've already broken my 'never eat in an Indian restaurant outside of the UK' rule once before (The Spicy Grill, Brussels, arguably the best Indian restaurant I've ever visited) I found myself breaking the rule again, except this time it simply didn't cut the mustard. First I ordered a Warsteiner but was given a Paulaner – odd when Warsteiner is advertised all over the place – on the menus, outside the restaurant – but I wasn't complaining. Then I asked for poppadams, expecting the usual plate-sized variety but getting instead a couple of dozen mini poppadums each the size of a 2p coin. Very disappointing.

I certainly picked the wrong table, right by the door. Every time somebody walked in I got a cold blast of April weather. It went right through me. Decor-wise it was fairly basic: red and beige tablecloths with a bar/servery counter on the back wall and tables in front of it.

The waiter was the height of good manners: polite, friendly, he passed with flying colours.

A hot plate arrived, always a pleasant moment of the Indian restaurant experience, but not today. It was cold. Put it this way, I could easily place my hand palm down on it without risk of burning myself. The food followed and, fortunately, it was warm, hot and fine to eat.

I had ordered a chicken curry dish with pillau rice and a naan bread and found the entire meal a disappointment. First the rice was a little on the crunchy side (not what I'm used to) and the chicken, while fine, was, I don't know, chewy? Gristly? Not like the prime chicken breast meat I would have been served in an English Indian restaurant, and I can't help but compare like for like, it's only natural. Theoretically they should be in the same ballpark, Germany is, after all, a Western European country, just like the UK. The meal was sort of average and I kind of regretted making the decision to cross the threshold of Jaipur, although, that said, I might be completely wrong about the place. I say that because as I was about to leave many Indian customers came in, virtually taking over the restaurant. Having so many Indians sitting in an Indian restaurant is, in my opinion, the best review an Indian restaurateur can hope for. So I started to reappraise my attitude towards the place, although I stand by what I have written. Put it this way, I felt reassured about Jaipur's credentials.

At the end of the meal I was given scented 'bird seed' – a kind of Eastern Trill – to refresh my mouth. It did the trick.

The bill was around 26 Euros, which was a fair price for what I'd eaten. Soon I was back on the streets and heading for my hotel from where I now sit, writing this review.

It's just gone 2130hrs, I'm tired and looking forward to my bed, which is next on my agenda.

I've enjoyed eating a few of these excellent snack bars.

Snack of the trip!!!
Arguably one of the most moreish, tasty snack bars you'll ever eat, the Briiggen Sunny Erdbeer Joghurt bar takes the biscuit. I'm guessing that 'Erdbeer' is German for strawberry as the English translation says just that, 'Strawberry Yoghurt'. Either way it's tasty and I'll be getting hold of some more tomorrow. This is serious competition for the Balisto bar.

Taking a ride around Berlin...

Tuesday 3rd June 2014: After a fairly hectic morning involving the conference I was attending and general glitches with my lap top, I finally managed to relax with a beer in a place called Rosado, a kind of Argentinian steak house restaurant, except that I only ordered a cream of tomato soup and a Warsteiner. The annoying thing about the soup was the phrase 'cream of...' because, while I would have quite happily settled for a much healthier and simplistic tomato soup, it arrived with a huge dollop of cream in the middle of it. Not pleasant. Why, I wonder, didn't they chuck in a couple of flakes for good measure and possibly a cornet, and call it a 99?

Bike number 3113 in the Hotel President Berlin's car park prior to my ride.

Anyway, as with most things in life, I got used to it. I was sitting outside of the restaurant under a canopy, watching the traffic as there was little much else to watch. This, it has to be said, was a late lunch. By the time I'd gotten out of the conference venue and walked back towards my hotel it was almost 3pm and I was feeling very tired. Tired and emotional if the truth be known, but the beer relaxed me and although I was depressed about my lap top (I was certain it was game over for my old and faithful computer) I felt suitably chilled out as I made my way back to the hotel to dump my case and all the conference gubbins before heading off to the railway station to buy a ticket for tomorrow's journey to Hagen.

Yours truly with the bike out on the streets of Berlin, 3 June 2014.

I had exhausted all the boffins at Apple regarding the state of my computer. Earlier I'd been to the over-trendy Apple Store and discovered that I might have a major problem of the 'you're going to need a new lap top' variety. I entered my hotel room in a forlorn, depressed and cheesed-off state of mind. Everything, I said to myself, was so fucking futile.

The bike in the Tiergarten.

But then I had a brainwave. Well, not a brainwave exactly, just an idea. What if I take the battery out of the computer and put it back in again? It didn't make sense – and it probably wouldn't work – but what if it did? So I used a teaspoon to release the battery from the underside of the computer. I dusted it out and replaced and secured the battery and guess what? It only worked! "Thank you, God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" I exclaimed, looking, for some reason, at the hotel room wardrobe. I can honestly say that I hadn't felt more pleased with my life in ages and resolved there and then to hire a bike from downstairs and take a ride around the city.

My two destination objectives while on the ride

I had things to do, like buy my railway ticket for tomorrow's journey to Hagen and I thought I'd pay a visit to the Reichstag too. Who needs to spend a fortune on taxis when 12 Euros to hire a bike is perfectly reasonable? Hiring the bike proved trouble-free and soon I was out in the hotel car park with the keys to bike number 3113 (note that's 13 backwards AND 13 the right way around in one number). I bring up the number 13 for the simple reason that it seems to be following me around at the moment and I don't know why.

Yours truly at the Reichstag – next stop Berlin Hauptbahnhof to buy a ticket

I turned left out of the hotel and used one of Berlin's many designated cycle lanes to move along Schillstrasse and Klingelhoferstrasse, which turned into Hofjagerallee. I soon found myself in the Grober Tiergarten, the most amazing park space in a city centre I'd ever come across. Riding along quiet, car-free lanes with only other cyclists for company I passed through some amazing parkland consisting of woods and green space and lakes along with the occasional statue or sculpture and not forgetting a red squirrel. It was simply wonderful and ultra peaceful with nothing but birdsong and the whirr of bicycle wheels to keep me company. This ride takes Berlin to the top of my chart for cycling around foreign cities – way ahead of Montreal and Essen and a tad better than San Antonio and Indianapolis, although the latter compares favourably with Berlin.

Where east meets west at the Brandenberg Gate, Berlin

I rode through the park until I saw a sign for the Reichstag and decided to ride there and take a few pictures. When I arrived there were school parties, people chilling out on the lawn and a general atmosphere of well being, which was pleasant.  The railway station wasn't far (no more than a five-minute ride, so I hopped on to the bike again and, having padlocked my bike outside, went into the station in search of the ticket office.

Berlin's holocaust memorial

Berlin's main railway station was amazing. A modern building of glass and steel with tracks above and below where I was standing, plenty of food outlets and shops and plenty of hubbub. German railway stations are great places to be as there's always somewhere to get something good to eat and there's always somebody around. Everything is so organised, even the ticket office works on a ticket-based system: you push a button on a machine and you're issued with a number and then you wait for your number to be called. The wait was certainly under two minutes and within five minutes I'd bought my ticket on the 1427hrs train to Hagen tomorrow afternoon.

The Rosengarten inside the Tiergarten, Berlin

As happy as Larry, I waltzed back to the bike, unpadlocked it and rode off in the general direction of the Reichstag and, of course, the Tiergarten where I enjoyed cycling around the park as the light began to fade. Looking into the wooded areas on either side of me, I started to think about what it might be like camping out for the night (not that I had any intention of giving up my warm hotel bed) and just as these thoughts entered my mine I saw that Berlin's homeless had got there before me: fine in June, but I wouldn't fancy it at any other time of year.

Earlier on the ride, prior to entering the Tiergarten

Near the Zoological Gardens I found a kind of pub/restaurant in the park offering some very pleasant outdoor seating amongst the trees and – although I never had any – some excellent-looking food of the pizza and salad variety. I ordered a much-needed beer and chilled for 20 minutes or so before re-mounting the bike and making my way through some traffic to reach Tauentzienstrasse and eventually my hotel. I rode straight into the car park, locked the bike and handed in the key at reception.

Something has to be said about the bike. Alright, a woman's frame and one of those Dutch-style affairs, this one had that pedal-backwards mechanism to aid braking as well as a front brake. There was a dynamo, so the light came on automatically, a bell to warn pedestrians and other cyclists that I was there and, the best bit, a stand, which proved invaluable. Every time I wanted to take a photograph, I simply stopped, put the bike on the stand and wandered off to do the necessary. The bike was solid, as are most things German, and totally reliable. I wasn't anticipating a puncture, put it that way.

Berlin is a great city to ride around because it has dedicated cycle paths and the needs of the cyclist have been taken into consideration by the town planners.