Previously: 40 Years in Beer (Book II), Part 68: The advent of the ACBHOF (2024) recalls a diminuendo in BREW (1996).
As a prelude to this recap of the 1997 “spring break” journey to the Czech Republic and Bavaria, kindly allow a banks-of-the-Moldau (Vltava) digression.
During the 40-year period when Czechoslovakia was colored “Red” on the world map by virtue of its communist orientation, Americans aiming to have a peek at the landscape couldn’t merely waltz across the German or Austrian frontiers.
After all, this was the territory behind the Iron Curtain. However, while forbidding, the Warsaw Pact was fully accessible given sufficient pre-planning to obtain visas, along with the patience necessary to navigate a tourism bureaucracy that never seemed altogether delighted to provide the simplest of services, particularly for solo travelers.
In fairness to the official red-starred, state-owned Čedok travel agency, it actually predated Czechoslovakia’s communist tenancy by almost 30 years. First nationalized, then returned to private hands, Čedok has survived to the present day. The attitudinal malaise (1948 – 1989) owed to something askew in the Marxist-tinged water, which is why improving upon water’s fundamental blandness by transforming it into beer is always the best idea.
And the Czechoslovaks were adept at brewing, whether communist or capitalist.
For me, the rewards of Czechoslovak travel far outweighed paperwork aggravations and the mandatory currency exchange, especially when Prague was the destination.
I enjoyed two visits to “Red” Prague in 1987 and 1989, followed by a half-dozen other idylls during the early- to mid-1990s, just after the Velvet Revolution pushed aside socialist realism. These were glorious times, although invariably it was necessary to keep a close eye on your waiter’s math skills.
Whenever I found myself in Prague, irrespective of any historical and cultural objectives (and there were a great many), I’d always hoard a few hours to wander through the lesser-visited neighborhoods — Holešovice, Karlín, Žižkov, Vinohrady — hunting obscure pubs that might be stocking draft beers from Czechoslovakia’s (later, the Czech Republic’s and Slovakia’s) many breweries.
Much of this urban roaming came under the power of my own two feet, but when the dogs began barking, Prague’s extensive network of trams, buses and subway lines usually was close at hand to help follow the bread crumbs back home. Later, when friends began traveling with me, back-street beer-sleuthing became even more fun.
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The legal framework for beer distribution in the Czech lands never was clear to me. A situation akin to the British “tied house” seemed to prevail, in that a typical pivnice (piv-nee-tsuh, or tavern) generally would serve draft beers from only one brewery — and be referenced by discerning locals as such — augmented at times by a few bottles from somewhere else.
Although for me, not Czech-made “rum,” as previously strongly warned against.
40 Years in Beer, Part Eighteen: In Ostrava, the beer of the people at the factory gates
Even during communism, when you’d expect that some variety of hidebound statute precluded improvisation in distribution, there’d be a head-scratching 14-degree “porter” from halfway across the country pouring at a backstreet boozer. How on earth did it get there? I suppose somewhere in the five-year plan there was an asterisk, although the communists practiced plenty of wheel-greasing, too. Perhaps favors were owed.
Of course today we’d merely decamp to a multi-tap somewhere near Wenceslaus Square and be overwhelmed by sheer choice, Prague having long since graduated to the international norm of establishments boasting bountiful selections, as well as wi-fi to enable the inevitable triumphalist postings at untapped.
Call me old-fashioned, but this approach always struck me as tantamount to the king’s gamesmen running the animals past his shooting stand.
Where’s the sport in it?
It’s also no way to conduct a principled drinking tour of a city as grand as Prague, where there is so much else waiting to be learned around the next corner while hiking between watering holes. It encompassed more than the architectural glories and historical monuments. What was everyday life like? Where did locals go to shop, work and play?
Why was there a walk-up weenie window on a dead-end street where no one ever walked? Perhaps owing to the nearby rear door of the V. I. Lenin Ministry of Silly Proletarian Walks.
Many Prague pubs served beer from the city’s erstwhile “big three” breweries: Staropramen, Braník or Mestan, all three long since deceased as independent entities. There was the longstanding U Fleků brewhouse, of course, and in due time the newer generation of brewpubs started popping up.
Other breweries were well represented, and it seemed the closer their home cities to Prague, the better chance of finding them. Radegast, Gambrinus, Budvar and Pilsner Urquell were common.
Intriguingly, it remained possible to find watering holes in Prague that were connected to smaller breweries, or even larger ones further away from the capital. There’d be occasional appearances by Ferdinand (from nearby Benešov), Hostan (Znojmo), Regent (Třeboň) or Starobrno (Brno).
The trick was finding the overwhelmingly blue collar joints serving them, as they didn’t always correspond to familiar addresses amid the prevailing tourist routes. We’d forage down back alleys, pass through obscure archways and dip below street level in dark cellars.
A brewery called Herold became an obsession.
One evening we traipsed over what seemed like half of Prague trying to find the sole pivnice where we’d been told Herold might be found, stopping frequently for directions at other establishments along the way. These wayfinding seminars generally were answered by rounds of thankfulness from all directions, which might explain our ultimate failure — at least until 1997, when we resolved to locate the Herold brewery itself and at last take the guesswork out of it.
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The Doppelbock Viscosity Tour in March, 1995 marked the first time I felt the confidence to plan a European excursion involving a group. In essence, the 1997 trip was an explicit bookend of an encore, again focused on the Czech Republic and Bavaria.
Crass considerations like personal profit did not interfere with the pilgrimage; rather, it was intended as a pooling of resources for the benefit of the collective. Admittedly I gained a few additional frequent flier miles, but more important was the useful organizational experience. By this point in time the internet’s potential in facilitating communications had penetrated even the thickest of Luddite skulls, including my very own, yet I never pretended to be a travel agent.
Airfares were the responsibility of participants, and I always directed them to the late Mary Pat Bliss at her travel agency in New Albany, hoping she’d at least make a few bucks during a period when it remained theoretically possible to do so. I can’t come close to calculating the hours I spent chatting with Mary Pat, or how much I learned along the way. My gratitude to her is eternal.
Almost all the folks involved in these early jaunts were friends, customers and/or homebrewing club members. There would come a time a few years hence when my beer trip planning as an amateur was extended as far as it possibly could, when continuing to grow it would have required time, effort and investment on my part, as well as casting the recruitment net much further than before in search of travelers.
That’s when I stopped. As an outreach of the Public House, F.O.S.S.I.L.S. and L.A.G.E.R.S., the era of group travel (1995 – 2008) made sense, less so as a business unto itself. Because we aimed at expanding NABC’s nascent brewing operation, I understood all too well that there’d be no time to indulge the full range of my aspirations simultaneously (or even consecutively).
While the group travel era lasted, I’m fairly confident that a good time was had by all, allowing for a belated concession. As the following 1997 pre-departure synopsis confirms, those early itineraries definitely were not for the faint of heart. The pacing still reflected my personal solo travel ethos of relentless motion, not always transferable to a group-related dynamic. This would change as time passed, and the groups became larger.
The 1997 itinerary appears here verbatim, so you can see what we had in mind.
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FOSSILS ABROAD, MARCH 1997
March 19 – March 31, 1997: Prague, the Czech Republic and Bamberg
Introducing this year’s participants devoted to rigorously scientific sampling: Roger A. Baylor, Joe Brower, Rick Buckman, Deneen Hooper, and Bob Reed.
Most of the following, including all lodging, has been confirmed. Other portions of the itinerary are subject to confirmation. None of it is etched in stone, and alterations can (and probably will) be made on the fly. Price quotes in dollars do not imply that these are to be paid in dollars; I’m just providing a convenient estimate. Current exchange rates: $1 = 26 Czech crowns (koruna); $1 = 1.6 German Deutschmarks (DM). Times are stated in the 24-hour format, because this is what you’ll see during the trip at train stations and bus stops.
Day 1: Wednesday, March 19
All participants depart Louisville on Delta Airlines, according to this schedule:
Leave Louisville, 13.00 (Delta Flight 1858)
Arrive Atlanta, 14.17
Leave Atlanta, 17.20 (Delta Flight 38)
Day 2: Thursday, March 20
Arrive Amsterdam, 7.25
Leave Amsterdam, 8.05 (Delta Flight 80)
Arrive Prague, 9.35
A representative of the booking agency, Prague Accommodations, will meet our flight at the airport and arrange cab rides to our residence (approximately $10 per person for the cab; money can be changed at the airport if necessary). Accommodation for the evenings of March 20, 21 and 22 will be at the apartment of Mr. A. Takacs, Žatecká 8, Josefov (Staré Město). There are five beds, two bathrooms and a kitchen. The residence will cost each of us $25 a night. It is located a block away from the Staroměstská metro (subway) stop, and a couple of blocks from the beautiful and historic Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square). The American Express office is a 15- to 20-minute walk from our residence; we can change money there. The remainder of the evening can be devoted to scouting, drinking and eating prior to what I hope will be a restful night’s crash.
Day 3: Friday, March 21
I am negotiating with two Prague travel agencies to hire a minibus (with driver) for an excursion into the countryside south of Prague. Estimates for this service range between $140 and $200 for 10-12 hours, which I think is a very good price. Assuming this is accomplished, the proposed itinerary is as follows:
- 10.00 Visit the brewery in the town of Velké Popovice, just south of Prague, where the excellent Velkopopovický Kozel beer is made (founded in 1874 as part of a self-sufficient agricultural estate). This has been confirmed by e-mail, as the brewery has an excellent web site.
- 13.30 Visit the small Lobkowicz brewery in the rural area around Vysoký Chlumec, east of Velké Popovice. The CAMRA book describes this brewery, which was once part of a large aristocratic holding, as “one of the last bastions of Bohemian country brewing.”
- 16.00 Visit the Herold brewery in the town of Březnice, southwest of Prague. The story of this brewery is amazing. It is a small, classical Czech brewery that was slated to be closed during communism, but somehow survived until 1989, when it briefly shut down. The Velvet Revolution intervened, and it was re-opened a year later.
Since then, Herold has produced unusual styles by Czech standards, including a wheat beer and a well-regarded strong dark lager. This visit has been confirmed; I spoke to S. Janostik, the brewer and the man responsible for keeping the brewery functioning. This should be interesting.
Day 4: Saturday, March 22
Nothing scheduled. Just wandering the streets of Prague, and an occasional pint. The CAMRA books lists a couple dozen pubs, located in all districts of the city.
Day 5: Sunday, March 23
Leave Prague by rail at 7.55. Change at Nürnberg. Arrive in Bamberg at 14.30. At present, I am asking the Prague travel agencies if they can arrange for the purchase of round-trip tickets. One, AVE, says no, but they know the price to be in the area of $75. In any event, we’ll take care of that when we are in Prague.
Accommodation in Bamberg is at the Maisel Bräu Stübl, now called the Bamberger Weissbierhaus (but under the same management) at Obere Königstrasse 38. Here’s what their letter of confirmation said: “You come on Sunday, but we are closed so you have to use the backdoor. Your keys are in der door from the rooms Nr. 1 and 2.” The cost should be in the neighborhood of $30 per person, per night (March 23, 24 and 25). Pub crawling is in order for the remainder of the day on Sunday.
Day 6: Monday, March 24
- 10.00 Visit the Weyermann malthouse, which is near the train station.
- 14.00 Visit the Schlenkerla Rauchbier brewery. This is confirmed, having been engineered by the North American importer of their beer, Matthias Neidhart at B. United Importers. According to Matthias, we are to meet with Mr. Trum, the owner and brewer (see Jackson’s Beer Companion for a photo of Mr. Trum).
- 18.00 Visit the Franconian brewing museum, in the old monastery on Michaelsberg hill. The English-speaking guide can conduct the tour on Monday, when the museum normally is closed, but we have to pay a fee for his services of DM 100, total (approx. $62). I think it’s worth it, as the museum is filled with brewing equipment, bottles, signs and other tidbits that aren’t labeled in English.
Day 7: Tuesday, March 25
Open day. I’m trying to get regional bus schedules for Bamberg, with the idea being to take a day and go into the countryside to one or two of the many multi-breweried villages in the area.
Day 8: Wednesday, March 26
Depending on the path we choose, this might be the only truly long travel day. There are two options. One would be to stay in Bamberg another night and travel back to Prague on Thursday morning. This would have the effect of delaying our arrival in České Budějovice until late afternoon — not a problem, but it would be an entire day spent riding trains. The second option is to take an overnight train (in a second-class sleeping compartment called a couchette) to Prague, beginning Wednesday night and arriving Thursday morning. No overnight trains to Prague originate in Bamberg; Nürnberg is the closest jumping-off point. Unfortunately, none leave Nürnberg for Prague any earlier than 2.40 Thursday morning, arriving in Prague about six hours later. This would be a better use of our time, but it wouldn’t give us as much sleep. On the other hand, it would allow a full day of sampling, and there would still be 2 and 1/2 hours of train time to České Budějovice for napping.
So, Wednesday would be a fine day to pack up and move in the direction of Nürnberg during the day, stopping around lunchtime in Buttenheim for a visit to the St. Georgenbräu brewery, and at any other of the small brewery villages that are on the rail line. We can spend the evening partying in Nürnberg, grab a few hours of sleep on the train to Prague, and …
Day 9: Thursday, March 27
… arrive in Prague at 8.11, then switch to the next available train to České Budějovice. This should put us in České Budějovice no later than early afternoon. Owing to a communications breakdown, our accommodation has been changed from Hotel Zvon to U Solné brány, Radniční 11, which is off the central square, roughly a 10-15 minute walk from the train station. The price will be around $32 per person per night, including breakfast. The remainder of the day on Thursday will be open for important things, like personal hygiene and Budvar (not necessarily in that order).
Day 10: Friday, March 28
We are scheduled to tour Budvar at 10.00. It appears that this will be a standard tourist excursion, as I’ve been unable to coax a response from anyone at the brewery, but maybe something will come up between now and then. In the afternoon, I’m trying to arrange a tour of the Regent brewery in Třeboň, which is a small city near České Budějovice. This may or may not happen; they’re proving to be difficult to reach. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice except to drink, either in the city or somewhere nearby.
Day 11: Saturday, March 29
Nothing scheduled, but I suggest a day trip by train to Český Krumlov, which is a UNESCO world heritage city with the second-largest castle in the Czech Republic (only Prague’s is bigger), and a preserved Renaissance and Baroque city center. There’s also a brewery, but a tour would be unlikely on a weekend.
Day 12: Sunday, March 30
From České Budějovice, we make tracks back to Prague aboard any one of the trains heading that way. The final night in Prague will be spent at the familiar Hotel Opera, Těšnov 13, where this year’s rate is somewhere around $30 per person, per night, including the fairly ample breakfast buffet on Monday morning. The Opera is near the airport bus terminal, making it easier and cheaper to return to the airport on Monday, although taxis are an option if we’re burdened with campaign booty. If it turns out that the Konopiště castle in Benešov (south of Prague) is open on Sunday, I might hop off the train to Prague and visit it. If not, there’ll be somewhere to drink the final night away. Souvenir shopping should be done before Sunday, as many stores will be closed, although the airport on Monday is a final option.
Day 13: Monday, March 31
Expect a close examination of airport architecture.
Leave Prague, 12.05 (Delta Flight 81)
Arrive Amsterdam 13.35
Leave Amsterdam, 15.00 (Delta Flight 39)
Arrive Atlanta, 17.35
Leave Atlanta, 18.55 (Delta Flight 534)
Arrive Louisville, 20.09
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In hindsight the accuracy of my timings was fairly remarkable. As an example of this punctuality, our day spent touring the three breweries south of Prague (March 21) was an all-time beer group travel highlight.
For a partner on the ground, I settled on a mom ‘n’ pop startup called Prague Accommodations. The company was staffed in its entirety by a dignified, erudite older couple, both retired from academia and looking to supplement their meager retirement income. They had a clean and spacious apartment for our use in an ideal location near Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square), and when I mentioned the prospects for engaging a van with driver for the brewery crawl, it was quickly arranged.
Deploying the Campaign for Real Ale’s Good Beer Guide to Prague and the Czech Republic, three breweries situated quite close to each other were targeted.
- Pivovar Velko Popovice in Velké Popovice; a brewery tour and tasting. The iconic goat was not to be taken as an indicator of bock beer; rather, the flagships were golden lagers on a pilsner model at varying strengths (and perhaps a dark lager). It was the largest and most modern of the three breweries we toured; Asahi is the current owner.
- Pivovary Lobkowicz in Vysoký Chlumec, an excellent example of post-communist economic restitution. The Lobkowicz family belonged to the hereditary nobility of the former Habsburg Empire, and following the Velvet Revolution numerous nationalized properties and businesses were systematically transferred back to them. The brewery in Vysoký Chlumec first began brewing in 1466, and while mostly modern, it was being upgraded in 1997. The site may or may not be in use today; recently it was used to brew beers exclusively for the German market, with domestic production shifted to a sister brewery nearby.
- Pivovar Herold in Březnice, founded in 1506, and since 2008 once again Czech-controlled following a period of American ownership.
The tours at Velké Popovice and Vysoký Chlumec were informative and included generous samples. It was cold outside and patches of snow were on the ground; still, when the sun eventually appeared a hint of spring wafted into the air. A quick lunch was taken in nearby Sedlčany at a newly minted eatery, and then it was back on the road.
In reality, Herold’s colorful back story and all-around elusiveness probably guaranteed it would be the high point of the day, and we were not disappointed.
Our driver, an unflaggingly pleasant young man, found Březnice easily enough. The brewery itself was another story. There were inconclusive inquiries made of passers-by, then finally a cheerful farmer atop a tractor pulling a wagon overflowing with manure slowly guided our cautious man at the wheel right to the Herold brewery gate, which unsurprisingly (given the brewery’s age) was adjacent to the 13th-century castle grounds.
I’d contacted Mr. Janostik, the legendarily stubborn manager, a second time to confirm but he had to leave work abruptly owing to an untimely emergency. His second-in-command rose admirably to the occasion. Making a hasty phone call, he dashed out the door, soon reemerging with Alice in tow. She was a local schoolteacher who’s serve as our interpreter.
Our tour of the Herold brewery lasted all of 30 minutes (the premises were atmospherically vintage, with a sprinkling of indifferent communist interior design), yielding to a considerably more intensive two-hour beer history survey course conducted down in the lagering cellar.
By the end of our subterranean time, we had absorbed so much “knowledge” that the ancient stone staircase leading back to ground level began wildly undulating to the beat of non-existent medieval hurdy-gurdy music. This magical motion very nearly kept us fastened to the lagering vessels, which would have been just lovely by me.
The Herold brewery was incredible. We were showered with gifts, encouraged to pack a durable Euro-standard plastic beer crate with to-go bottles, and escorted outside into the winter’s darkness for the short drive to Prague. It is a ride of which I remember almost nothing, save for a brief pause at a truck stop to use the WC.
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In 1997, just as in 1995, none of us could fathom coming so far without the long, balky but doable rail excursion to Bamberg. However in 1997 came a quantum leap in available activities, thanks to the evolution of “better” beer importing and wholesaling back home.
Specifically, we scored a tour of the Brauerei Heller-Trum, where Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Märzen is brewed a few blocks up the street from the famous Schlenkerla smoked beer tavern. You’ll note that in the itinerary, Mr. Trum is mentioned as our brewery tour contact.
The Mr. Trum we eventually met, who provided a brilliant tour of the brewery, proved to be a different Mr. Trum than the one we expected. Therein lies a famous old pub regular’s tale of mistaken-yet-unmistaken identity.
At Rich O’s Public House in 1997 the balance of beer list offerings as yet favored imported beers, even though it gradually was shifting to accommodate a new generation of American-brewed micros. Recall that whatever their origin, in order to maintain legalities the beers we sold at the Public House had to be purchased from an accredited Indiana wholesaling intermediary as mandated by the “three tier” post-Prohibition settlement.
Happily, as time passed the existing wholesalers either got into the import/craft game or stuck to their mass market product lines, guessing correctly that if they stuck it out another two decades, the ascendance of hard seltzer would assure a comfortable retirement in perpetuity.
And yet, there was an obvious niche for a specialty beer wholesaler in Indiana capable of compensating for lower demand by aggregating and expanding emerging “better” beer product lines, and delivering statewide.
Bon Vivant Libations was exactly that, a specialty wholesaler in Indianapolis founded by Lauren and Tom Hansen in 1996. Two years earlier the B. United International importing firm had been launched in Connecticut by Matthias Neidhart.
Taken together, these meant that a fantastic lineup of world classic beers was being phased into the list at Rich O’s in the run-up to our 1997 trip, including enduring favorites like Aventinus Doppelbock (Germany), J.W. Lees (England), De Dolle (Belgium) … and of course Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Märzen.
Overall the timing was immaculate. Although I barely knew any of the people involved, it didn’t prevent me from petitioning them en masse for a Schlenkerla brewery tour, a destination previously deemed improbable at best.
When the Schlenkerla visit was confirmed, and my gleefully spastic happy dance finally stopped, I reread the fax and assumed that the aforementioned “Mr. Trum” was German Trum (his given name, not his nationality), who’d been featured in Michael Jackson’s “The Beer Hunter” videos.
Schlenkerla was family-owned, and since 1967 German Trum had been the fifth-generation owner and brewer. i felt greatly honored to have him show us around.
However, a truly fortuitous mix-up occurred. Intermediaries on both continents helped plan the occasion, and someone confused the importer named Matthias with German Trum’s son named Matthias, paraphrased: “This American fellow knows Matthias.” Guessing this meant his son Matthias, not the importer, the elder Trum asked him to conduct the tour. Matthias Trum didn’t know me at all, but shrugged and thought what the hell; maybe it’ll be fun.
Matthias Trum was six or more years away from assuming control of the family business, which was transacted one morning over breakfast when his father tossed him the keys to the empire and said well, how about we make it today?
In a confusing nutshell, this is how we came to know Matthias Trum … entirely by accident. During the many years since, Matthias has always made time for me to catch up whenever I’m back in Bamberg, this in spite of his escalating family and business responsibilities. Matthias’ countless successes in piloting Schlenkerla into the new millennium are worthy of praise and closer examination, and he’ll re-enter my narrative later.
As for the 1997 Bamberg stay, it still boggles my mind that we experienced the Weyermann malthouse, Brauerei Heller-Trum (Schlenkerla) and the Franconian brewing museum all in one day and still had time for eating and drinking. It was a fermentable marathon, and a crash course on Bamberg’s beer and brewing enticements.
We were far too exhausted to contemplate the Franconian countryside brewery crawl, which eventually materialized in 2004 — thanks to none other than Matthias Trum, who boarded our bus along with his friend Ingo and rode along as we visited six rural breweries in a single day (and ate fried chicken).
As for our return to the Czech lands, 1997 became the first Budvar brewery visit; as previously discussed herein, it also served as a “victory lap” in the wake of the struggle against Anheuser-Busch’s imperialist proclivities.
40 Years in Beer (Book II) Part 52: “Anheuser-Busch, Gone Home,” our classic 1997 victory lap
A second Budvar tour followed during the motorcoach finale in 2004, along with a return to Český Krumlov and a stop at the stellar, traditionalist Eggenberg brewery, now sadly closed (the beers are brewed elsewhere). Full accounts will appear later in this series.
Finally, in March of 1997 there was no time for the meandering train from Prague to Konopiště castle in Benešov, but I made it there less than five months later during my second 1997 trip to the Czech Republic in August (which included U2’s Pop Mart tour performance at the soccer stadium in the capital), thus checking off another Habsburg Legacy Bucket List box, as the castle was one of Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand’s residences.
What else can be said?
These days in March of 1997 offered another opportunity to witness a transitional time in postwar European history, as well as to learn about breweries, pubs, malting houses and the Austrian expressionist painter Egon Schiele (via the Egon Schiele Art Centrum in Český Krumlov).
It all felt like a graduate-level education to me, not to mention a non-stop party with invariably great beer ans the occasional venison steak (farm-raised in the Czech Republic).
There are many “beer tours” offered nowadays. Yes, it’s true that I’ve long since retired from the task of putting them together, but this isn’t to imply that I wouldn’t sign up for one some day.
Consequently readers in Indiana and immediately surrounding states should be aware of the Indianapolis-based Ron Smith’s beer tours of Germany and Belgium; learn more at his web site. Ron is experienced and vends a quality product, and if I ever decide to indulge …
Next: 40 Years in Beer (Book II), Part 70: Made-for-megabrewing stylelessness at the G.A.B.F. in 1997.
