HE HAD WAITED the best part of a year for it, but the day had finally arrived. The high point of Jasper’s Long Trip Home, this apex of epicureanism was piled high for him in the form of speck and hams, salmon, rollmops and cheeses. Broken up only by breads of every hue, this meat, fish and dairy fest had been the focal point of Jasper’s journey and the reason he so often cited Germany as the country he was most looking forward to visiting.
“I am going to have 15 courses,” he said delightedly, his tongue lolling about and his eyes rolling, as he skipped to the lift.
And the Royal Meridien did not disappoint, with a fast-breaking feast on the ninth floor, set against the stunning vista of the Alster.
He was true to his word, too, and ate and ate and ate. In the end I had to prise him out of the breakfast bar with a croissant wrapped in a napkin as he looked longingly backwards at the Aladdin’s Cave of breakfast buffets…
All manner of fish and meat on display…
It was only after several false starts (mainly our hotel room safe malfunctioning and the poor maintenance man who was sent on multiple occasions to fix it, thinking we were seriously stupid. Oh and Jasper needing one of his last minute ‘comfort breaks’ – more on that later) that we finally made it out of the hotel.
We walked along the beautiful banks of the Alster, watching all the sailing boats setting sail for the day, and made it on to our free ferry to the centre of town (FREE… such a beautiful four-letter ‘F’ word after the wallet shredding expense of Scandinavia).
Just as we eased into our window seats, Kitty decided she needed a ‘Jasper break’ too, and so poor Mrs S spent the entire scenic voyage wrestling with our pink child and her nappies in a very clean but extremely cramped WC on board.
We piped ourselves off when we reached the majestic Rathaus, and it was then we both realised that neither of us could remember or had appreciated how beautiful a city Hamburg was.
Jasper boards the Saselbek
We looked around the Rathaus – what an apt name for a seat of government – and straight away spotted a water fountain gargoyle who looked as though he had just spent a couple of days paying Scandinavian prices too, before heading further south towards Wily-Brandt Straße.
The street’s name rather predictably caused much hilarity with the boys (“you said Wily… hahahaha).
A late 19th Century depiction of how I felt after receiving my Swedish restaurant bill
Catching the lift to the top of Nikolaikirche, the tallest building in the world from 1874 to 1876 and still the second-tallest building in Hamburg, popped Ben’s ears and blew the cobwebs away for the rest of us on a sunny but breezy day.
Blown apart by the Allies in World War II the state of the once-splendid Gothic structure serves as a cautionary tale against war, and there is a curious plaque at the top which explains how the Allies’ carpet-bombing of civilian areas had been in breach of international war and not the right tool to break the German masses’ loyalty to Hitler, but hastily added that the “fuse for the firestorm” had been lit in Germany by the raids on Guernica, Warsaw, Rotterdam, Coventry and London.
Still, though, it was with a slight feeling of uneasy responsibility that I descended the 480ft building.
The boys’ favourite street name
Fantastic view
Sober reflection
After that sober reflection it was time for a little light relief and we headed to Miniatur Wunderland – three floors of model railways (we have a thing about trains, you may have noticed), towns, villages, airports, sea terminals and pretty much everything else you can think of.
The Wunderland was indeed Miniatur but from there on things got super-sized: from the queue, to the girth of the people, to the backpacks they were swinging around with gay abandon instead of checking them in at the entrance (as the signs and announcements repeatedly reminded…)
It was a strange crowd. There were, naturally enough, plenty of children, but alarmingly there were also healthy numbers of child-free adults, pushing and elbowing their way to the front of displays – often crushing children underfoot – to take photos of the models.
Not everything is small
Scrum time
The boys had a great time, though, and Kitty grabbed a nap on my shoulder so we all left refreshed and rejuvenated to head back to the Royal Meridien, another trip across the Alster which we could all enjoy this time and another slight disagreement over the hotel bill.
Even Mrs S got to enjoy the Alster on the way back…
We had just enough time for a quick bite to eat before heading to the station and went to a small café at the end of Gurlittstraße which proved to be, despite a day of culture, high and popular, the talking point among the Shinettes.
Jasper went to do a Jasper. On his return he urged Ben to go to the loo with him. Straight away. They came back looking quite pleased with themselves, asking Mrs S to go with them. And also me.
I relented and before we got to the bottom of the steps was told to close my eyes.
“We will tell you when you can open them,” Jasper said.
“OK,” said Ben. “Open them.”
You can sometimes overthink these things…
Now, I kind of think I got the joke in its entirety, but, for the purpose of clarity, both boys decided to spell out just why this was hilarious.
“The man has got his legs closed, because otherwise you would see his willy,” Jasper explained earnestly.
“And the woman has her legs open to show she doesn’t have a willy,” Ben chipped in.
“Yes guys, I get that.”
“No daddy. Because if the woman had her legs closed you wouldn’t know if it was a woman or a man,” Ben added very seriously. “And you need to know which loo you can go into.”
“OK. Let’s go and finish supper, boys…”
We allowed plenty of time at the train station. And that was probably our first mistake. Catching sleeper trains in Europe is an entirely different experience to the Asian form.
In Asia it pays to get there a little early – almost always the train is waiting for you and you have time to board at leisure: a major plus when you are lugging eight bags and three children around.
The Hamburg to Paris City Night Line train pulled into Hamburg central station with five minutes to spare and I was still panting for breath, stretching my shoulders and flexing my neck from side to side to relieve the pain of hauling overstuffed bags up the steps, when it slowly pulled away again, rocking down the rails towards Paris.
It was 26 years ago almost to the day that I last caught a sleeper train in Europe. On that occasion it was from Marseille to Paris and I was the sixth occupant to climb into my bunk – the top one on the left hand side – and for the duration of the journey my five French cabin mates took turns to stay awake, staring at me with their dark eyes, waiting for me to fall asleep, or so I imagined. Of course I spent that night lying awake as we chugged northwards for hour after hour.
I am not sure what I had been imaging this time round, but can report that the trains are no different now than they were then.
The cabins are more cramped than their Asian cousins – there are six berths crammed into the space where four fit back East.
Not even really room for a small one
Plenty of room up top though
Snug
The beds are hard and they are thin, you cannot roll over and there is very little room between your nose and the mattress above.
And no room at all on the floor once you’ve dragged your bags on from the corridor.
I tried to type a little once the children were dressed for bed and sitting up top, but was unable to even sit upright, the mattress above my bunk was so close.
The children had no such concerns, sprawled out to share some iPad viewing, and it was the 1987 scene played out again, only this time I was the one down below staring up until they finally went to sleep.
No room to even sit upright
WOODLANDS TO WATERLOO 