WHEATLEY’S WORLD
Timisoara tumbles and tipples
Writing here on The Yard of Ale I feel it would be impolite not to share with you my own yard of ale drinking feat. It was in the beautiful town of Timisoara at the start of a peregrination that would take me from Romania through Serbia and Hungary, ending in Ukraine. I checked my wallet halfway through to find banknotes from six national banks. I was traveling with three friends; a ragtag bunch of chaps, mostly strangers to fashion and style but handpicked for their love of adventure and extraordinary drinking ability.
At this point in the story I must remind readers of The Yard’s disclaimer regarding drinking responsibly. We at the Yard are seasoned professionals and reports of our exploits are for your delight and entertainment only and should not be replicated.
Things started well with my bibulous brothers as we sampled every beer and bar that would let us in. Delicious local beer clocked in at around £1.20 a pint. The penultimate bar only sold beer in litre glasses and it was suggested that I might not be able to down a whole jar in one go. Despite being unprepared and already around a gallon of beer for the better I accepted the challenge. With years of experience, skill and determination at my fingertips, I took a deep breath and necked the lot in one fell swoop. The last drop disappearing to roars of encouragement. To congratulate me the chaps bought me another beer! Thoughtful.
To be fair , it wasn’t an official yard of ale in measure (only a mere litre) but as no one else would try it I am taking the credit.
If you want to know what happened in the last bar we stumbled into, well for some strange reason I cannot recall.
Putin? Nae bother!
If you find yourself wandering around Kiev, near the national circus and find yourself thirsty yet not adverse to a bizarre experience (as happened to me but a couple of years ago) I can highly recommend Out Pub. It is a football pub with live bands at the weekend. Friendly, fun and nae bother. The local beers are good and although going up in price a lot recently, still hover around the quid a pint mark. The name ‘Out’ relates to getting out of it, smashed, suitably refreshed, you could say.
Fun fact: the gent’s urinals have a picture of The Russian President Vladimir Putin on them. You get the message. Please do not shoot the messenger here. We at The Yard of Ale have no political opinion; we are only interested in the politics of drinking.
As mentioned, it is a football pub and the owner is obsessed with legendary British footballer league players Paul ‘Gazza’ Gascoigne and George Best. The place is festooned with photos and hand painted murals of them. I will leave it there and add no more as I do not wish to ruin your surprise if you are ever cool enough to venture here.
The last time I visited this most august establishment (which funny enough was in August) I noticed it was much brighter inside than I had ever noticed before. At this point I must tell that I was wearing a pair of grey jeans and a smart red shirt. Inside there were many locals lads in football top. It transpired, they were showing a big match; an international, no less. I went straight to the bar and ordered a pint and sat at the bar.
Now I am no expert on football and if you are not too / aren’t either (little help here please ed) but the national Ukrainian side wear yellow and blue which happens to be the same colours as their flag. Portugal, who Ukraine were playing wear red, which is also, you get the idea. Anyhoo, I quaffed a draught of beer and turned to see what was happening in the bar. A reporter was interviewing a local fan about his feelings on the match. Strangely I then turned to the screen which was about to show the match to the nation and saw the same man and interviewer. It was a live interview on national television. Behind them I could clearly discern a devilishly handsome chap wearing a smart red shirt grasping a pint of beer. Weird.
Final score: Ukraine drew 0 – 0.
I lived to tell the tale. Putin did not fare so well.
Dynamic Kiev!
So last January I was in Kiev en route home from a far-flung city in rural Ukraine that you wouldn’t have heard of and I can’t spell. (so let’s move on). It was a bracing day – around minus 11 Celsius – with two inches of hardened ice underfoot.
I had deliberately booked a cheap hotel for my one night stay next to the delightful train station because of these conditions and ease of getting to the airport next day. After check-in and a light dinner, I headed to the nearest drinking establishment, a pub called Porter Pub. For those who don’t know, it’s a huge warehouse of a building, on account of it being an old warehouse before transforming into a much more useful establishment.
On entry, I was offered a free shot of vodka which I thought rude to refuse. Although massive, the pub was quite cosy, warm and friendly. A live band was playing and it was a great atmosphere. Old motorcycles and pieces of machinery strewn around as a reminder of the building’s former use. Think Dragon’s Den without the surly old people.
I was happy to sit at the bar and settle in for a few home made beers. I opted for a honey beer weighing in at 4.8%. I appreciate there are much stronger beers to be sampled but I prefer to wake up in my own bed, not a hospital or police station. I happily sat drinking in the atmos and the beer whilst chatting with locals. I noticed there was a baseball bat behind the bar and thought how great it was that they had a pub sports team. I was disabused of this notion a little later as the bat was employed in a much different use during a difference of opinion at the front door.
I would have stayed much longer than I did, as my flight was not until next afternoon but I was I little concerned about the ice on the street. So I made my excuses and left.
I had, however, downed seven delicious pints of hand crafted lager and knocked back a vodka.
Somehow I had change of a crisp five pound note!