We’d underestimated both the temperature and the distance when we set out to walk the banks of the Ilz from Passau in the summer of
2012 2010. After several hours, we reached our destination, only to find the beer garden closed
We nearly gave up but, consulting our maps, decided to push on.
We got redder in the face, sweatier and wobblier on our legs, until we were almost delirious. Eventually, even the sheltering trees disappeared and we found ourselves on a plain in the midday sun. The only thing that kept us going were worn-looking signs every few hundred metres: “Biergarten.”
What we found at the end of the trail was a village with chickens in the road and no sign of life. The signs directed us to what looked like the back of a residential property where there were two patio tables under the washing line. Sure enough, though, an old lady in a pinny appeared and we gasped our order: “Zwei Pils, bitte!”
Can you imagine how good the beer in the picture above tasted?
You might start to notice a theme emerging here: that the most memorable beers are often not, in themselves, especially distinguished. Time and place and all that…