Tea and I have made an appearance at the Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer and Wine Festival each of the three years it's been running. It's improving every year, and always seems to be well attended. We normally go on the Sunday, but yesterday was a nice change: the evening band in particular really dialled things up from the typically relaxed atmosphere, getting folks on their feet.
They planned for all weather as well; handy, given how the sky simply opened late in the afternoon; just bucketed for a good half hour, with uncommon thunder and lightning. The marquee held up well, though, and soon the festivities were spread out over the cricket grounds again.
The beers were excellent as well. My favourite had to be the Lakeland Lager, by Hawkshead Brewery, up in the Lake District. An odd choice, you might think, but, as they (and many others) say on their site, it's an excellent style that's got a bad name in the last few decades. I simply couldn't pass up the chance to try a cask-conditioned lager, and I'm so glad I did: what the tasting notes refer to as a dry character almost approached a sourness, for me, and put me in mind of some of the lambics I've enjoyed; really exciting and refreshing. And now, reading Hawkshead's own notes, it's mostly brewed for the bottle, not the cask, so I count myself doubly fortunate.
[These last few posts of the cruise were written as we sailed back to Amsterdam. We now continue on Tuesday, July 5, returning from our two days in Russia...]
Our next stop was Tallinn, Estonia. Unlike many of the earlier stops, the Old Town -- one of the most beautifully preserved in Europe, we're told -- was but a short walk from the port. While we'd arrived very early, we did manage to find some coffee in the sleepy Town Hall Square, right in the impressive hall itself. (Which was a good thing, as it was a bit chilly.)
Town Hall, in the square of the same name
The highlight of the day was an archery contest we stumbled upon: Tea did well initially, as did I -- so long as you count perfectly lining the arrows up along the left-hand edge of the target as "well" -- but the star of the show was Stephen, who nearly doubled the top scores on the leader board with back-to-back 43s. We left with a nice bottle of Estonian wine, Canada dominating the standings.
Apparently I need rebalancing
Take that, Pepe!
Old Hansa
Archery works up a good appetite, so it was lucky that Alla had recommended a traditional restaurant, in the medieval style, right off Town Hall Square: Old Hansa was even better than we'd hoped, serving all sorts of interesting meats like bear, elk and wild boar, as well as their own beer, flavoured with honey or strong herbs.
Ketikoerad
We finished the afternoon with a spontaneous rock 'n' roll show near the pier -- the band was Ketikoerad, and they played a mean Born To Be Wild -- a bottle of the local porter from Saku in hand.
Since Saturday was supposed to be the nice day of the weekend, we made sure we were up somewhat early, and after picking up Matt, made our way to Stroud for their famous farmers' market: supposedly one of the best (the best?) in England. Once parked, we made our way to the nearby high street -- through the train station, I might add; guess how we'll be getting there next time -- Celtic notes filling the air. The Bucket Band was almost through a set, two little girls skipping 'round a little boy just in front of them, like something out of a Newfoundland tourism ad.
After picking up a CD, we wandered the market, taking in all the fabulous sights and smells. Even in the middle of winter, it was substantial. Can't wait to go back when more's in season. We bought olives and focaccia, and after sampling some sausages straight off the grill, a few packages for home -- cookin' them up as I type this, actually; they smell so good! (And I'm cookin' 'em up, too; look at me! *wink*) Plus, we got chatting to the chap from Warcop Brewery in South Wales, and Matt and I grabbed half a dozen of their stouts and porters between us; sounds like he's there year-round, so I know where to go if I like it.
Speaking of ale, we thought it'd be the perfect way to wash down our sausages and rest our feet. Tea's CAMRA app. told her the Queen Victoria was good choice nearby, so off we went. As we sat outside, enjoying our pints -- the excellent Cornish Mutiny for me, and Anastasia's Exile Stout for Matt; the latter's by Ascot Ales, which deserves special mention, as their Alligator Ale came in my most recent CAMRA Beer Club box, and it's excellent) -- a guy approached, asking whether we had any papers to spare, mistaking us for smokers.
He had more success inside, and came out to share a pint with us. As we chatted, he showed us a newsletter he'd just finished for an upcoming series called Lorca In England, celebrating the work of the Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca. The town has a rich history of supporting the arts, we soon discovered. He'd moved out from London 22 years ago, and fallen in love. He said that now, many of those artists make up the local business community, running coffee shops, pubs, etc. When he found out we were Canadians, he immediately gushed praise for Leonard Cohen, talking about how he's still writing verses for Hallelujah, his ordination as a Buddhist monk, and his bankruptcy. (Much of which was news to me, I have to be honest. Matt easily kept pace, though.) Before leaving, he recommended we check out the Golden Fleece, and hoped to see us there later.
Next on our list was the snowdrops in Colesbourne Park, but we'd passed through Painswick on the way to Stroud, and decided it was worth a stop coming back. After wandering the beautiful grounds of the Church of England parish church of Saint Mary -- with its literally fantastic yew trees -- we stopped for a bite to eat at the Royal Oak, enjoying the fruits of Stroud Brewery -- Budding and Tom Long, specifically -- two bowls of butternut squash soup and a burger between the three of us.
It isn't hard to see why Colesbourne Park is getting so much attention on local radio and television: the snowdrops were more than plentiful. Because of that, I think our later arrival, with an hour 'til closing, worked out really well: the crowds were dying down, and we still had plenty of light to take some great photographs. A great way to end the day.
We had a better plan this year, buying a return bus fare that got the six of us to the Tewkesbury Winter Ale Festival a bit before noon -- we'd heard they were limiting the attendance to 300 this year, and didn't want to miss out. I don't know if they got that many, but it was certainly well attended, and better stocked this year, with plenty of choices left on this, the last day. (Last year they had little left but cider less than halfway through the final day.)
A great selection too, that I was largely unfamiliar with: I knew maybe half a dozen of the 70 ales available! Favourites included Orkney's Raven -- lovely nose, almost like pine needles -- Black Ops (can't remember the brewer) and a whopper, at 10%, called... Old Thakey? Thakes? Something like that; more like a port than an ale, but really smooth and tasty. [Correction: I didn't do too bad, actually: the Raven was by Thornbridge, Black Ops was by Salopian (the same folks that do the Lemon Dream that Tea and her friend, Liv, love), and, finally, the whopper was Thomas Sykes Ale by Burton Bridge. Thanks to Matt for digging out the pamphlet.] The entertainment was also excellent: the Tewkesbury town band, followed by Six Nations rugby on the big screen.
On one trip to the cask room, Tea was stopped by two gentlemen serving food, "Are you a real Canadian?" pointing at her recently acquired Roots swag.
"Yeeesss."
"We have a question for you: how do Eskimos bury their dead?"
Tea, Matt (a fellow Canadian) and I exchanged looks and shrugs. I don't think they believed any of our suggestions, which included cremation and boat graves. (We had no clue. Turns out the answer is just like us, and, historically, under cairns.)
Awesome mustard we'd had earlier
Good times. We hit the Bank House for some grub once back in town, followed by a nightcap at a friend's place. Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the festival.
When friends of ours said they were going to be in Dublin for a long weekend in July, we jumped at the excuse to visit one of our favourite cities. One quick train ride to Birmingham International and forty-minute Ryanair flight later, and there was much hugging and back-slapping all round -- shortly followed by "Good night!" Hey, none of us is gettin' any younger; it's all about pacin' yourself.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
In Kilmainham Jail
Since Cee hadn't been to Dublin before, we decided that a hop-on-and-off bus tour would be the first order of business the following morn. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel -- including soda bread and black pudding -- it was off to buy our tickets for the bus, and for the hurling and football matches on Saturday, something the original Jae had been assured was a must-see.
In the Victorian wing
Our first hop off was the 'Gaol'. Tea and I enjoyed some great tours on our first trip to Dublin, but I have to say, if you have time for just one while you're there, the Kilmainham Gaol tour can't be beat. The history presses down on you before the informative guide even gets started. In particular, as we walked out to the yard that includes the Invincibles' unmarked grave, we all agreed that its significance was made known to us -- be it through chills or a weight in the air -- before the guide even pointed out the plaque. That, and seeing Joseph Plunkett's cell (amongst those of the other planners of the Easter Rising), where he and Grace had that short span 'alone' as a married couple, and then seeing her cell in the much-filmed Victorian wing later on; it wasn't hard to imagine why she decided to devote herself to the cause.
After that, we stopped at the Patriots Inn for lunch before walking to the Storehouse for some Guinness swag -- no, you can never have too much. We hopped back on the bus at that point, getting off again near Grafton Street for more shopping. Well, the girls shopped. Cee bought a cigar, and then we went wandering, stumbling upon the James Toner Pub for a pint before meeting the girls back at the Porterhouse for, you guessed it, another pint (of their own porter in my case -- delish!).
Within minutes of greeting Jae the previous evening, she'd mentioned Montys, a Nepalese restaurant she'd heard about; that was on the docket for supper. Well, what a treat! From the opening recommendation -- dumplings! -- we were hooked. My lamb ledo bedo (traditional Nepali curry) was amazing, and the peshwari nan was ridiculous -- seriously, probably the best I've had to date, and I'd like to think that means something now, after a year of trying great curries.
We finished the night off with a few more pints and live music at O'Neill's.
Friday, July 16, 2010
We started with another good breakfast at the hotel before heading to the train station to take the DART to Howth. The Victorian row houses gave way to greenery and, finally, the beautiful Irish Sea and Ireland's Eye. The air was heavy with salt as we left the train, and while the sun was shining through the clouds, we'd packed for showers. We noted Beshoff Bros fish and chips shop immediately, knowing how good that would taste after our cliff walk.
The harbour, Dún Laoghaire in the distance
Walking up the trail, the cliffs falling off to our left, reminded me of childhood walks around Cape Spear, and our recent trip to Cornwall. The cries of the seagulls and the crash of the surf accompanied us as the showers began. They were more cooling than anything; we really couldn't have asked for a better day. As we neared the top, a spectacular view of the town of Dún Laoghaire (which sounds like 'Dun Leery', I believe), across the harbour, greeted us. It was then that we noticed the houses, and the pub. It was a bit disheartening, thinking we'd conquered some significant mount, only to discover a thriving community in our midst. We attempted to cover our embarrassment by busily talking amongst ourselves, but a local quickly picked us out, stopping his car and leaning out the driver-side window with a friendly smile, "Do you know where you are?"
When we pointed at what we thought was the way down, he replied, "No, that's the boring way. What you want is there," pointing to a gap in a low wall that was in a similar, yet entirely different, direction. He said the way was intuitive: that so long as we were heading down, we were heading true. He emphasized that, while it was simple, we wouldn't see "any big German signs pointing the way," which had us in stitches for most of the way down -- Cee in particular, given his heritage.
Down we went, past row houses painted such bright colours you'd swear we were in St. John's. At one point we passed some guys unloading kegs from a flat-bed truck; they had this great system where one guy'd get a keg to the edge of the flat-bed before letting its weight carry it to the pavement below, and this little pillow they'd set for that purpose. The keg would bounce off that, turning on its side in the process, where the next guy would ensure that its momentum carried it right through the pub's side doorway. It was like something out of Donkey Kong!
The fish and chips from Beshoff Bros hit the spot, just as we'd imagined. Sated, we decided to pop into the tourist information centre quickly before heading back to Dublin. On the way, we noticed a crowd by the dock and were surprised to find a group of sea lions frolicking for the masses. A few people bought some bags of fish heads at the nearby shops, and the sea lions just went wild for them. Perfect timing!
Once back in Dublin, we decided to take the Laus (pronounced 'louis') -- or really neat, futuristic tram, as we liked to think of it -- to Abbey Street for more shopping. We were a bit confused about where to catch it, and ended up waiting longer than it would've taken to walk the distance, but it was worth it: we couldn't very well leave the city without riding it, after raving about it for days. While Cee went with Jae to buy his sweetie a ring, Tea and I crashed for a bit in St. Stephen's Green.
At Salamanca
We planned to meet another friend, Aye, who was returning from Prague, at the Spire around 6 p.m., so we headed back to the hotel to freshen up beforehand. That done, Cee and I were just finishing up a pint in the lobby when Tea came running back in, telling the staff to call an ambulance. She'd just gone out with Jae a moment before, so both Cee and I thought something had happened to her. As it turned out, they'd been standing on the sidewalk for but a moment when a cyclist flipped over his handlebars and landed horribly on his unprotected head, out in the street right in front of them. Some others trained in first aid took over from Jae, telling the man not to move (once he regained consciousness), as the rest of us directed traffic around him and tried to avoid looking at the pool of blood spreading around his skull. The ambulance arrived very quickly -- within five to seven minutes -- allowing us to gratefully take our leave. He seemed to be O.K. by then; undoubtedly concussed, but moving under his own steam. Always wear a helmet, kids!
We met Aye shortly thereafter and made our way to the tapas restaurant we'd spied earlier, Salamanca. The place was packed, so we put our name on the list and went to a different Porterhouse close by. Aye was shocked when they told him they didn't have Guinness on tap -- 'til we explained it was a microbrewery. The hilarity continued when we were seated in Salamanca, however, because they didn't serve it either. As he said, we probably found the two places in Dublin that don't serve it (and it was all he'd dreamed about having since his flight had touched down). We got the story out of the waitress eventually -- apparently you have to buy Guinness in such large quantities, that it doesn't make sense if it won't appeal to most of your clientele -- and consoled ourselves with a few Murphy's (and sangria for the girls, a Paulaner for Cee).
At the Mercantile
With a few dishes a piece, it wasn't long before our large table was full of delicious morsels. Tapas has to be some of the most fun you can have at a meal, picking and choosing, and all on those small plates that slows you down before you're ridiculously full. Sated again, we set out to get Aye his pint of Guinness. The Mercantile, while not much to look at (under construction as the façade is), caught our ear, so to speak. More pints, laughs, and a bit of air guitar for good measure, followed, into the wee hours -- and Aye didn't miss his flight home the next day!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Match day!
It rained heavily all morning, which was just as well, 'cause Tea and I slept late. (Cee got soaked on his morning walk, though.) It started to clear up in the early afternoon, so we went to a pub for a late brunch before heading to Croke Park for the 3 p.m. hurling match. As we got closer, you could see the crowds converging, with plenty of supporters of the boys in blue: Dublin.
Hurling match at Croke Park
I had this big ole grin plastered across my face five minutes after finding our seats: there was this fantastic cacophony and barely concealed tension in the air. Both these matches, back-to-back, were play-offs: this was the GAA Hurling All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal was between Dublin and Antrim, to be immediately followed by the GAA Football All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal between Dublin and Armagh; as we found out later, the latter was a real grudge match: the last time Dublin and Armagh met in the play-offs was five years earlier, with Armagh clinching the victory.
Fans pile in for the football match
We still found so many opportunities to laugh, though, like when the five-year-old behind us squeaked, "Take their heads off!" Another time, as I was just about in the lou, this giant of a man grabbed me by both shoulders, and, staring down most earnestly, said, "Is there anything blue on my face?"
As if the question weren't strange enough, his heavy accent really threw me. "Anything blue?" I said.
"Yeah!"
"U'm, no." (I decided to ignore all the little bits of paper towel all over his face; the guy had obviously been scrubbin' somethin' fierce in there.)
"Ah, bless you!" he said, taking off for the stands.
I saw him again later as the last match was letting out, and noted that he was sporting no colours while being harassed by a crowd of his friends, all dressed in blue. Cee had speculated earlier that supporters of the boys in blue had painted a rival fan -- against his will, shall we say -- and this gave weight to the argument.
I'll close out this section with a video clip from the football match. Just after it ends -- with Dublin winning, as should be obvious -- the guy in the middle of the frame turned to us and said, "We've waited five years for that!" Awesome!
At Chameleon
For our last supper in Dublin, we decided to try an Indonesian restaurant called Chameleon. Our good fortune continued as the host said that we'd have to sit on cushions and be on our way by 9 p.m. (still two hours away). We heartily agreed and were soon reclining in our cushions like so many sultans. Another fantastic meal followed, and we were asking for the bill with mere moments to spare. (And then had to walk through a significant line of waiting diners!)
The raucous Temple Bar then greeted us, in full swing by this time, and we set a meandering course. A few streets later our way was blocked by a crowd. Peering over heads, standing on tiptoe, we picked out the band and stopped to listen. Folks of inner circle were dancing as that song finished, and then a haunting tune was struck up. We were mesmerised by the crescendo, swaying, and then clapping, faster and faster, when suddenly this "Wop! Wop!" of a police siren pierced the bubble. Against the odds, they'd decided that this was their best bet of getting through Temple Bar to whatever crime was in progress. I took a hasty video of it, and, as you'll see, they did make it.
And that, other than momentarily losing the girls as we walked along the Liffey, thanks to a series of well-built gentlemen deciding that ironing in the buff in their well-lit apartments was the best way to spend a Saturday evening, was our trip to Dublin, done and dusted.
Tea's been talking about Christmas markets -- and all the wonderful childhood memories she has tied up with them -- since we arrived, and after seeing some of the stuff in Cardiff and in town -- not to mention the Good Food Show in Birmingham, although I didn't go with her for that -- it was time to head out for our first one... in Bath. We'd heard that parking was extremely scarce, so, much like our trip to Wales, we packed a backpack and jumped on a train. (We even threw in our swimsuits in the hopes of spending a bit of time in the Roman baths, but, being the last weekend of the Christmas market, it was far too busy.)
Unlike some of our other day trips, we got started nice 'n' early, arriving just after the market opened at 10 a.m. Before long we were snacking on banana and caramel crepes and sipping mulled wine -- it was almost noon, Mom, honest! -- taking in all the festive sights, sounds and smells. Somewhere between the curried parsnip soup and the bratwurst I realized that I was already close to topping out my short-term memory, and fished out my notebook. As I'm scratching down some key details, I hear this older lady's voice from somewhere in front of me say, "Would you like my number? Or am I too old for you?" Awesome! (My little black Moleskine does look like an address book, although I hadn't noticed it before.) There were also stalls that didn't serve food or drink, of course, and I'd be remiss if I didn't highlight the Wooden Ties one: I'll have to put something up on YouTube demonstrating the fantastic tie I picked up; it was quite a hit at work.
Bath is absolutely amazing to walk around, but we decided that we'd focus on the market areas this time, knowing we'd be back again soon. We had some great chats with folks, like the guy who'd set up an enormous Christmas card for passers-by to sign that'd be sent to British soldiers serving overseas. He got really excited when we found out we were Canadian, talking about how much he liked the idea of the Highway of Heroes, and how folks were trying to get a similar designation for the M5 over here. Then there was the local in the Old Green Tree pub who was still up 'n' at it from the night before! He felt so bad about mistaking us for Americans; he kept offering to buy our round, but I knew we were only stopping for a quick one. (At some point, early in the conversation, he leaned over all conspiratorially and said, "Do you realize there's a lady rootin' around in your pack?" He was just tickled that she ordered a full pint too.) It was such a beautiful find -- that Good Beer Guide is worth its substantial weight in gold! -- with a great selection: Tea had Butcombe's Christmas Steps and I had a Keystone Porter. Don't miss this gem of a pub if you're in Bath!
Tea with our new friend in the Old Green Tree
PS: I'm experimenting with some new features in Blogger, so let me know if you notice any changes in the layout, etc. that you like (or don't like). Thanks.
Update: One thing I've already noticed is that Blogger copies over the pictures, as opposed to linking to Picasa. You can always go there to see all the other pictures associated with any of our adventures (i.e., Best of December 2009 in this case); plus, the slide-show to the right pulls them from there as well (and may even show you ones that I haven't got around to posting about yet.)
