A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

September 2008.

Cover photo courtesy of Neuweiser.

In late 2008 I was 30 years old and just a few weeks away from getting married. It was an exciting period in which S and I were incredibly busy with the million and one details that needed attending to. And, of course, completely clueless that ultimately our lives together were not meant to be.

When I look back on that time, some of my favourite memories lie wrapped up in my stag weekend. That’s bachelor party in British English, for any confused readers across the pond. The importance of such an event was not lost on me. After all, this would be the first (and pretty much only) time all my closest friends and I would be together in one place at the same time.

Choosing a location for my stag weekend was not a decision I took lightly. I wanted it to be a knockout celebration in an epic location. First, I tried convincing my chosen ones that we could all go to Las Vegas. However, when push came to shove that proved a financial commitment too great for some. 

Next, I flirted with the idea of Pamplona. But back in those days I had my heart set on The Running of the Bulls, which had already taken place in the summer. Eventually, after a host of proposed destinations, I settled on a somewhat practical city that would suit everyone. 

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

I was living in Brussels at the time, just two hours from the German city of Cologne by train. I had barely seen anything of Germany and, after some online research, found myself quickly charmed by its cathedral and vibrant nightlife. This, I figured, should play out well for a weekend of history, culture and booze. Although not necessarily in that order. 

Cologne would be equally convenient for a number of my fellow stags. My buddy and squash partner Erik (pictured below, yellow sweater) also resided in Brussels. As did Chris, my good friend who I met while working for the Swiss Coffee giant Nespresso.

It wouldn’t be too far for Flo either, my future brother-in-law who travelled down to Brussels from Amsterdam. The bulk of the crew meanwhile, my old college friends Ad, Palmer and Steve C, took a short Easyjet flight from London. In fact, it was only the best man, Jon ‘Goldblum Crisp’ (white shirt), who had to make a major effort with a flight from Nashville, Tennessee.

Our Thalys train from Brussels was one of those high-speed affairs that felt like we’d arrived in the click of a finger. This being a stag weekend, we wasted no time in cracking open the beers. Looking back, I do have to grimace somewhat at the sight of Jupiler, a decidedly bog standard Belgian beer. I guess we simply took what was available that day.

On the way to Germany.

On arrival we jumped on a bus to our modest digs, Station Backpackers Hostel. Boy, did these guys put a capital B into budget, with cramped dorms, creaky beds and discoloured blankets, sheets and pillows. Nevertheless, we could have no complaints… we got precisely what we’d paid for. Except perhaps Erik’s unbearable snoring, which came free of charge.

As a blogger, I would like to think that I manage to go deep into the locations I write about. As you may have figured out by now, I love burrowing right into the history and identity of a place. That said, I should take this moment to hold my hands up and say this is not one of those articles.

While I have never been much of a drinker or party animal, this was my stag weekend after all. There were certain expectations, shall we say, of what the trip would be. Thus much of the weekend unfolded in a fuzzy, bar-hopping dream of alcohol, food and banter.

On our first evening we had a giant feast at an Indian restaurant, the name of which remains lost to the vaults of time. Here, Jupiler was cast aside in favour of Kingfisher, which is the only beer one should have when devouring a Chicken Tikka Masala with pilau rice. Not sure what Palmer found so amusing about his curry.

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

With our stomachs lined, the merriment began in earnest across several establishments in and around Maastrichter Street. I loved Cologne’s bar scene. Wherever we went it was dark, cosy and unpretentious, the walls packed with pop art and graffiti. 

The standout joint was Stiefel Bar, where the sound system pumped out Ramones, Pixies and a broad range of Krautrock. Indeed I believe this is where I first heard Kraftwerk‘s majestic Trans Europe Express.

Moreover, it was here that we immersed ourselves in fussball! Just about every bar we went into had a table or two. And while I was no stranger to table football as a kid, I had no idea that it most likely originated in regions of France and Germany in the late 1800s.

According to historians, it’s not known who actually invented table football/fussball. Most agree that it existed for years as homemade contraptions before several people eventually got around to patenting it.

One of these was an Englishman, Harold Searles Thornton. Another was the renowned French engineer Lucien Rosengart. That evening in Cologne, I remember chatting to a local guy who seemed delighted by our fussball enthusiasm.

“If there’s no fussball, it’s not a real Cologne bar!” he laughed, clinking his beer mug with mine. 

Later that evening, in some forgotten venue, we switched to pool and German beers such as Erdinger and Paulaner. By now the alcohol levels were starting to take hold, but not so much that we couldn’t have a decent competition.

There comes a time in just about every stag night that the group leaves the pubs and bars behind. In favour of… how shall I put it… dance establishments. I won’t say too much about this part of the weekend, other than the fact that some people enjoyed dance performances and some did not.

Along the way, shots were consumed and someone even upgraded to whisky. In a dark corner of a place called Stardust, one of the group and I had a heart to heart, during which there was a revelation of some magnitude. It was a touching moment that played out in an unlikely location. Sometimes, this is how life pans out.

The above photo is one of my favourite shots of the weekend. It would have been the wee hours of the morning and lord only knows where we were. All I can say, with some authority, is that we all made it back to the hostel in one piece and that there was no vomiting in the street.

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

The next day some of us (myself included) were up and about by mid morning. Others not until late morning, while one sorry straggler didn’t make an appearance until early afternoon. At some point we all managed to gather in the same place for lunch and… yes… more beers.

Next on the agenda was a bit of sightseeing, namely a visit to Cologne Cathedral. With a long and complex history dating back to 1248, legend has it this Gothic, World Heritage masterpiece once contained relics of The Three Wise Men. 

That afternoon us eight unwise men trooped into the cathedral without a single fragment of gold, frankincense or myrrh. Naturally we were wowed by the cathedral’s splendour, especially the nave with its stunning stained glass windows. A gift, don’t you know, from Ludwig I, The King of Bavaria. 

Photo courtesy of Thomas Robbin.

Furthermore, we climbed the 533 steps to the cathedral’s Southern Tower. During our ascent, we stopped to rest our weary legs and fuzzy heads. And to admire a giant bronze bell, one of 11 such bells that calls the cathedral home.  

Cologne Cathedral.

At the top the views were lovely, despite the day’s uncompromising greyness. In fact, I remember the fresh chill in the air perking me up as I gazed out over Hohenzollern Bridge. Indeed a silence fell over the group for the first (and perhaps only) time that weekend as everyone stood taking in the city, lost in their own thoughts.

Back on the city streets, our wanderings took us to the pretty Cologne City Museum. Housed in a former armoury building, its fine exterior wooed us in with its Dutch renaissance style shuttered windows. Inside, the various exhibits hold over 350.000 objects related to Cologne’s history, from The Middle Ages right through to the present day. 

Wherever you go in Germany, you’re never too far from a sombre World War II sight. In Cologne the narrative doesn’t get much darker than the National Socialism Documentation Centre, which details the depressing history of The Third Reich. 

Talk about a giant comedown on what was supposed to be a celebratory weekend. Chillingly, this museum sits in the EL-DE House, the former headquarters of The Cologne Gestapo. In between the info boards and dusty items in glass cases, we found ourselves passing through an actual former prison. One of the best-preserved detention centres, they say, in Germany. 

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

With afternoon drifting into early evening, we moved back into a carefree flow of bar visits. Much later, towards midnight, a friendly barman recommended “The best nightclub in Cologne!” Situated on the outskirts of town, we jumped into two separate taxis, our drivers seemingly engaged in a race to get us to our destination. Yikes!

I have no idea who won. What I do recall though is the bizarre venue itself, a huge establishment with smooth trip hop, abusively expensive drinks and attention-grabbing table service. 

Upstairs, there was floor after floor of corridors and rooms. It was exceptionally creepy, a bit like The Shining’s Overlook Hotel meets The Black Lodge from Twin Peaks. For the record, I I did not meet The Man from Another Place and I had no interest whatsoever in peeking behind the red curtains! 

It was some ungodly hour of the morning that we finally called for taxis back to the hostel. We were all thoroughly sloshed and unspeakably tired. Particularly Chris, who passed out by the entrance doors while we waited for our chariots.

A Stag Weekend in Cologne.

What a cathartic process it has been reliving this 14 year old get together. In the time that has passed I have been married, divorced and traveled the world. And now I’m happier than I have ever been, chiefly thanks to my wonderful Sladja.

The friends in this article meanwhile have had marriages and divorces of their own. Not to mention children, job changes, dearly departed parents and many more of the ups and downs we are all destined to go through. I like how this article captures us at one brief carefree moment. Thanks for reading about my Stag Weekend in Cologne.

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