Birthday Boy.

I wake up at five o'clock and lie until half past, before getting up and showering, having forgotten that I had already advanced my watch to European time and thinking it was half past six and that the public address system would soon be getting people up for breakfast and disembarkation at eight in Rotterdam. My showering has woken David and as today is his sixty fifth birthday, I wish him many happy returns, and tell him his card and present are in the car. It is then that I discover my error. He is infallibly good natured and laughs at my mistake, so I take my book and make my way to the lounge next to Langhams, in order to allow him and Irene a little more room and privacy in which to shower and dress. They join me at half past six and we three are the first in the restaurant for breakfast, which we eat as the ship sails up the Rhine towards Rotterdam, one of the busiest ports in the world. A constant stream of shipping passes our window as we tuck into a full English breakfast, which we calculate will last us until we arrive in Erlangen, near Nuremberg, where Irene's younger brother, my cousin Michael, lives. We are spending two nights there and visiting the town's famous beer festival, before the four of us travel down to the Wolfgangsee, about fifty kilometres southeast of Salzburg, on Saturday. Our friendly Portuguese waiter brings David a complementary glass of Bucks Fizz for his birthday, and I warn him that the Dutch Police are making routine breathalizer tests on motorists coming off the ferry, in order to discourage motorists from over indulging the night before and filtering out those who have. We dock on time at eight, disembark by half past and then sit in a queue for half an hour. The reason soon becomes obvious, the police are running a breathalizer check this morning. David waits, with a little trepidation, until it is his turn, but fortunately he passes OK and we are passed onto customs. The customs officer is a strikingly beautiful redhead, who stands six foot tall and has to bend down quite a way to be able to see into the car. By ten past nine we are on our way to Erlangen, David has plugged in a sat nav, which promptly gets lost as soon as we emerge from the Ferry terminal. Fortunately I know the way to the motorway quite well and tell him to ignore it and follow my instructions. It doesn't get any better on the motorway and so I ask him how long he has had the device and he tells me ten years, and he hasn't updated it because it was more expensive than buying a new one. We have lots of fun with the sat nav, as it frequently shows us driving across open fields and almost has a nervous breakdown when we ignore it and just follow the signposts of our route, past Aachen, Cologne, Frankfurt and Nuremburg to our destination. We break for a coffee after Cologne and arrive in Erlangen at half past four, where the sat nav promptly sends us in the wrong direction. The problem is resolved when we stop the car and ring Michael, telling him the street we are on. He tells us to take a left and then drive straight on for half a mile until we see him standing on the road side. The town is packed with tourists, as this is the first day of the Erlangen Fest, which takes place every year at Whitsuntide and runs for ten days. Over half the people are dressed in traditional Bavarian costumes, the ladies in dirndl dresses and the men in lederhosen. We spot Michael standing by the roadside, as promised and he tells us that this is our hotel, Hotel Kral and then directs us to the hotel car park, which lies on the other side of the road. The receptionist is a dark haired girl called Ingrid and is also wearing a dirndl, she checks us in and suggests we pay in advance, as there are a lot of people checking out on Saturday morning. We comply and are then shown to our rooms, which are immaculately clean and well presented. We arrange to meet Michael at seven thirty and then rest, as we have driven almost four hundred and fifty miles from Rotterdam. After unpacking, I meditate for an hour and then shower and change into fresh clothes, before going out for dinner. It rained almost continuously on the way down, until we passed Frankfurt, but then the weather brightened and the temperature rose to a balmy twenty degrees by the time we reached Erlangen. Well balmy compared to the eight or nine degrees in England. As it is David's birthday, we let him choose where to eat and he asks to go to a Greek Restaurant near Michael's flat, where he ate the last time he was here. Michael has lived in the town for over thirty years. His choice is good, the food is excellent and we spend a couple of enjoyable hours, eating and reminiscing, before making our way to the Fest, about a mile away. Having lived in Germany I know what to expect, or think I do, but this is something else, it has the usual German combination of fairground attractions, food stalls and concert tents, but the Festground in Erlangen is built round a series of caves, carved into the hillside, which serve as both cellars and bars. We have already sunk a stein of beer and a couple of bottles of wine between us, so it doesn't take long for the music and traditional costumes to put us into a real birthday party spirit. After wandering around, soaking up the atmosphere, we find a beer stall with a balcony, opposite an enormous Ferris Wheel, where we sit and watch the world go by, while Michael brings an inevitable round of Bavarian litre mugs of beer. Knowing my limits, I donate half of mine to him, as he is ten years younger than I am and much more used to the strength of the beer. At eleven o'clock, the Fest closes down, the Ferris Wheel lights go off and people start to wander away, some of the young men obviously the worse for wear, but everyone is good natured and there is no trouble. We walk along with the crowds towards Michael's flat and David decides he would like to complete his birthday in the Irish Bar across the road. Michael and I order halves of Guiness, but David has the full pint and is now starting to show the effects of all the alcohol. My cousin Irene, who suffers from very poor memory, asks me if she can have a camomile tea and I point out that it is highly unlikely that they will have any, but agree to ask the young girl behind the bar. I apologise as I make the request, but she replies that not only do they have camomile, but also peppermint, strawberry, lemon and a host of others. This is unlike any Irish Bar I have ever been in anywhere in the world. There are not many people in the bar and fewer still after we have completed a rendition of " The Wild Rover". We call it a night around twelve thirty and buy David his favourite Jameson Irish whiskey, for the road. This is a serious mistake, and after saying goodnight to Michael, I have considerable difficulty keeping the birthday boy upright on our way back to the hotel. I manage to guide him to his room, insist he drinks two full glasses of water and then deposit him on his bed, which he promptly rolls off. David is quite a big bloke, fifteen stones or so and a considerable dead weight to manoeuvre back onto the bed, but somehow I manage it, remove his shoes and then leave him to sleep it off, still fully dressed. He won't forget this birthday in a hurry, but he might forget parts of it. Back in my room, I drink several glasses of water myself and then turn in.