In the Rhineland, the word "carnival" does not conjure up images of glamorous masked balls in Venice or samba in Rio. Carnival in Cologne means beer, fancy-dress costumes, parades and cheesy music -- it means a wild week of endless drinking and dancing.

At first, I was sceptical about the whole thing. I've seen drunken crowds before -- the streets in every UK town are taken over by intoxicated clubbers every Friday night, and often they are aggressive and go out picking fights. The idea of watching fancy-dressed clowns, nurses, nuns and soldiers do the same did not appeal.

However, I was gradually persuaded that carnival should not be missed -- it had to be experienced at least once.

From a small town in Germany to the carnival capital

Thus my journey from quiet Bonn to the carnival capital Cologne began.

The first thing I had to do was acquire a costume. There are various shops in this area which are dedicated to the business of carnival -- you can buy everything from a simple clown's nose to a fully-fledged witch's costumes. I opted for a face mask with yellow feathers -- this turned out to be a good plan as it enabled me to be spotted in the crowd when I lost my friends.

Then it was time to meet my friends at the main train station which was already packed with carnival-goers. We bought some provisions for the journey and elbowed our way into a crowded carriage. A cunning friend managed to negotiate seats for us all and we were able to relax, touch up our face-paints and get cracking on the first beer. Other passengers were laughing and singing -- the overall spirit was high and I felt happy to be part of the festivities.

Let the party begin

Cologne's massive cathedral looming over the station clearly signified our arrival. We tumbled out of the train into the crowds and inched our way towards the underground. Again, we just about managed to push our way onto a train where we stood like sardines for a short cross-town journey.

Arriving at our destination, one friend noticed her phone had been pinched -- not surprising but annoying nonetheless. She decided that wasn't going to spoil her night and we started dancing along to the music.

For we had arrived at the alternative ghost parade -- dressed up as pirates, witches, ghouls and monsters, hundreds of people edged their way through the working-class districts of the city and danced and beat their feet to the samba rhythms being played by musicians dotted all around.

Contrary to my expectations, nobody was obnoxiously drunk, although the beer was flowing. Because there were no portaloos on the sides of the street, people relieved themselves behind trees or in bushes -- men and women alike -- this created lots of jovial banter.

"How much does a tequila cost?" we asked some guys wearing sombreros and pushing a cart. "Nothing except a beso (kiss) for each of us." That didn't seem like a big price to pay.

Dancing till dawn

Hunger at one point got the best of us, so we turned into a side street. We almost rejected one pizzeria because there didn't seem to be much atmosphere but as soon as we got in, we realised the music was so loud we could barely hear ourselves speak. So we sang along instead.

Once our meals had been served by a surly waitress who obviously did not want to be working, some escapees from the real carnival parade came in beating their drums and playing their horns. They all got a Kölsch (the local brew which shares the same name as the inhabitants of Cologne and their dialect) for their efforts and marched out again -- the waitress even managed a smile.

Well-fed and merry, we then decided to dance the night away in an Irish bar that had gone German for the night -- even the familiar hit-songs from the US and the UK had Kölsch lyrics, much to the joy of all the locals. We sang and we danced until it was time once again for another train.

This time, we were not so lucky and were not able to nudge our way into a carriage. We opted for the slower tram and, apart from one technical hitch (the driver asked us all to stand on the left hand side of the train!), we managed to get back to Bonn in one piece -- exhausted and exhilarated.

Did I go back to Cologne the next day? No, but nothing will stop me going back next year.