ENJOYING SOME BEERS ON HOLIDAY IN THE ALGARVE

We have just come back from a week in the Algarve, Portugal ; staying in between Albufiera and Villamoura. Its the first time back since 1991, and typically, cant remember much about the last time ; although the beer was probably crap. One noticeable thing this time  was the number of Irish bars , but  more on that later.

ABADIA

STOUT

For the last 8 or so years we have holidayed in the Portuguese island of Madiera, so was expecting for the same beer. In Madiera I always enjoy the 5% Superbock Stout, and more recently Superbock Abadia, a magnificent 6.4%  Abbey Beer. 

The Stout is quite rare for a Southern European country. Easy to drink and at only 85 cents a bottle, a no brainer really. The Abadia hasnt been around as long as the stout and is a red coloured beer based on Belgian style . Abadia is Portuguese for Abbey.  Again, 85 cents !

 On finding out the hotel beer was some yellow fizz called Imperial, it was straight down to the supermarket to top up with the Abadia and the Stout. It was great to relax on the room balcony, supping a beer and watching the world go by.

 

THE SO CALLED BREWERY

A trip on the bus to Villamoura, where we stayed in 1991, was revealing. It looked nothing like I thought it would. First there was a huge Marina, and looking for somewhere for a drink, we passed one Irish Bar, then another then another. Finally, I spotted a large pub called The Brewery. This looks better. Was it bollocks !  It was just another Irish Bar and not a brewery , selling Guinness , Heineken, some local stuff and Kilkenny ( no relation). As a form of protest, we had a cup of tea!.

Still, near where we were staying was a great Italian restaurant, Travertinos,  with adjoining bar. As we were having a meal, next door in the bar was some raucous shouting, as a Portuguese league game was on the telly. It was just like being at home. What was unlike being at home was the fact when I walked in to go to the loo, there was no shifty locals staring at a stranger who had just walked in. They just carried on enjoying themselves. Not intimidating like some local boozers at home.

One more thing. Although we went to Travertinos three times we also tried another Italian. It looked busy and had 4 TV screens , all showing footy. As we sat down to order we noticed they all were showing the Newcastle Preston game . I don't know why as no bugger was watching it . Anyhow, the bloody mags won 16-4. ( Will leave you to work that one out ).

So, Madiera in September then.    

THE GEORGE & DRAGON

Looking for somewhere to go on a trip out over Easter, I spotted on a map Hudswell Woods just outside Richmond. The name Hudswell rang a bell  - yes it is the location of the CAMRA National Pub of the Year 2016 ; the George & Dragon . So on Easter Saturday Mrs Ken and myself set off down the A1M into North Yorkshire.

I had sold the idea based on parking next to the woods then walking up ( note the word up) to the village. The car park was a mile outside of Richmond on the road to Leyburn.

So after a picnic we set off along a path next to the River  Swale. We soon passed some walkers with dogs coming the other way, including two guys with beards ( one of which was a goatee about 6 inches long). Exchanging pleasantries we then started up a track which eventually reached a long flight of wooden steps.

With the wife cursing me , we started climbing. Eventually we reached the top, with the smallest pub sign I have ever seen.

 

Following this work of art , we found another sign, directing us up by the side of someones allotment leading us into the garden of the pub. The garden had a stunning view over the River Swale valley.

The village itself is just over a mile long with properties on either side of a minor road. In the centre of the village is the George & Dragon.  The pub closed in 2008 but was rescued by the community and reopened in June 2010 as Yorkshire’s first community pub.

On entering the pub from the garden is a split level lounge with a bar with 6 handpulls, 5 beers and a cider. Waiting to get served, standing next to me were the 2 guys with the beards !. They had come the other way round but drove.

After some confusion on the barmaids part  ( she thought we were all together and asked the goatee if he was paying !), I ordered drinks and deposited some CAMRA branch magazines in a CAMRA holder on the bar.

Goatees mate took a magazine and disappeared into the small snug to the right of the front door of the pub.

Now the thing to note is in the magazine is a Pub Quiz, with 2 wrong answers !. Soon Goatees mate came out of the snug and said, " you see this quiz ?"  Unable to escape  I explained what had happened and foolishly owned up to the fact I had compiled the quiz. 

After a second drink ( half of Cherry Flavoured Cider) I needed  the loo. To get there, I had to walk through the snug  passing Goatee and his family, His mate shouts " Here's the guy who set the quiz!"  I explained I don't sign autographs and dashed to the loo. They all said some complementary things about the content of the magazine, so felt better after that.

Next door, and part of the pub, is the village shop. In between the two doors hanging on a wall was an NHS defibrillator! As we had walked up over 200 steep steps from the River below to get to village, I’m thinking the defibrillator should have been at the top of the steps! .  ( how many people put a photo of a defibrillator in a blog ? ed)

Escaping the quiz fan club, we left the pub, and we walked down the village street, crossed a field to the woods and took a different track down to the car park. Coming up were a couple who looked lost. I pointed out on a map where we were and recommended heading for the pub. "Oh, we are not interested in the pub" he said

Felt like giving him a slap over the head.!

  

   

GETTING DRESSED UP FOR GRAND NATIONAL DAY

Its Grand National Day today and it reminds me of a pub crawl we did in Thirsk , North Yorkshire , on that day  in 2012. There was six of us and we caught the train there, arriving at 1030 am.

The station is over a mile from the town centre and a brisk 30 minute walk ( so we got the bus) . Directly opposite the station is a pub called the Old Red House. While waiting for the bus , I ambled across to see what time the pub opened. No sign of anything with opening hours on . As I was peering through the windows having a nosy, suddenly one window opened and a female voice, non too pleased,  shouted " Yes Can I help you? we don't open till noon ". There was an unspoken "now bugger off" as she slammed the window.

So we caught a bus into town and found the Three Tuns, a Wetherspoons, in the Market Place, in time for breakfast and a couple of pints.

Just along from the Three Tuns is the Golden Fleece Hotel. This is an imposing former coaching inn with a small bar and a posh Writing Room with large comfortable chairs. We settled in the latter with Yorkshire Dales Golden Fleece Ale, which is a 4.5% bitter brewed by the Yorkshire Dales Brewery in Askrigg exclusively for the hotel.  

We suddenly noticed we were one short. " He must have gone to the gents".

Now remember its Grand National Day and he was gone a while, so I walked round to the loo and suddenly there appeared the missing person, dressed as a horse and jockey. As you can see I have pixelated his face but not that of  the horse !

Well the next 20 minutes were a riot, just as well we had the room to ourselves ! We laughed so much we all felt a little hoarse. 
 

Once we all settled down and after a couple of pints we left the comfort of the Writing Room chairs and walked to the other side of the Market Place and  the nearest betting office. 

( If you can imagine someone in a horse and jockey fancy dress walking across a zebra crossing.)

I didnt go in, as I  was sussing out more pubs but I am reliably informed said horse and jockey went unnoticed in the bookies. No one even glanced over from the screens.

He got changed in the next pub, the Black Bull ,where we watched the race.

By now the Wetherspoons breakfast was wearing off so we found a fish and chip shop for a brief drinking pause, then it was into the Darrowby Inn, also in the Market Place. 

After about an hour the last bus back to the station was due. The lack of public transport integration meant that there was a three quarters of an hour wait for the train so it was into the aforementioned Old Red House for the last one. 

The only handpump was Black Sheep and the pub was just ticking over. There was this strange drain-like smell emanating from one corner of the bar. So after a quick pint, it was over the road to catch our train back home.

A fond memory seared into my brain.