Lights out

I rise around 9:30. Just in time for breakfast.

None of the other international guests are here yet. The only others at breakfast are a Chilean family. The TV has a report about snow in Argentina. Then there’s a piece about the police smuggling drugs in Santiago airport. Talk about a swift change in tone.

A breakfast of toast, scrambled egg, fruit juice and tea.

There’s lifeless-looking cheese and ham, a little piece of cake and some toast. Though I’m brought some plain scrambled egg. The jug I expected to contain coffee, has hot water. To be added either to the tea bags or instant coffee. Instant fucking coffee? In South America?

It’s not the greatest of breakfasts. But I’ve definitely had worse. Notably, one in the US where the cheese was more plasticy than the plastic it was wrapped in.

I’m picked up by Camilo. about 12:30. We’ve some time before the first event.

“What do you want to do, Ron? Do you want to go to a pub? Or do you want to go to my beer garden?”

“Beer garden, please.” I really enjoyed myself there yesterday.

As we drive across Temuco, I get a better idea of the town. It’s very sprawly. And is mostly estates of identical two-storey houses. It looks oddly like the UK. Except the neat front gardens of many are protected by a two-metre-high metal fence. And some contain shops and other businesses.

Biergarten Klein is surrounded by such housing estates.

Camilo tells me: “We used to be outside the city, but it’s spread around us.”

Once inside, standing in front of the Beer Wall – his multitude of taps – Camilo asks:

“What would you like to drink?”

So much choice. But, as I rarely see one: “I’ll have a Märzen.”

Camilo's impressive still

Camilo takes me to see the brewery. Starting at the rather impressive still. He’s just about to distil his whisky and he lets me taste the wash. It’s very malty. Quite sweet. Surprisingly drinkable for something that isn’t meant to be drunk.

The still came from the Czech Republic. And looks very professional.

Inside the brewing hall, fermenters crowd together. It’s rather full. With all the usual stainless-steel stuff.

Out in the garden, we chat about his plans. As I slowly down my Märzen. It’s very peaceful. Unfortunately, we can’t linger long. Camilo has things to do. (There’s a surprise.) He’s going to drop me off at the restaurant which will host the judge’s reception. Later. Quite a bit later.

I’m rather early. At Del Bosque. The restaurant of Luis, who picked me up yesterday. I enter through one house and am led through to the one next door. Another part of the restaurant which must have been reserved for the reception.

A long, wooden table at Del Bosque

I sit, alone, at one end of a long table. It’s slightly disconcerting. After a while, a waitress brings me a pisco sour. That makes me feel a little more comfortable. I’m really hours early.

There’s some more waiting. I order a Quadrupel. A bowl of ceviche is placed in front of me, without explanation. As no-one else looks like turning up soon, I tuck in. I do like a ceviche.

A pint of Quadrupel.

My period of solitude suddenly comes to an end. As Chris turns up with Markus Raupach and Sandy Cockerham. Everyone gets a pisco sour and we settle down to order food.

I plump for a steak. With an Imperial Stout. An excellent pairing. If you believe in that sort of thing. I’m just a pisshead going for the strongest available beer.

When we’re about two-thirds of the way through our nosh, all the lights go out. What the fuck? The lights in the next-door room are still on. Staff scurry about a little. Sandy uses the torch on her phone to see her food. It’s very atmospheric. If impractical.

My steak at Del Bosque.

The problems with the power aren’t solved. We decant to the other room. And the other guests arrive. Which prompts another round of pisco sours. I’m never going to turn down a pisco sour.

I continue with Imperial Stout. It’s going down nicely enough, so why change?

Various nibbles and pizza are served. As we sit around a large table and chat.

I’m next to Paddy Johnson and his wife Sue. He’s an owner of Windsor and Eton, a very well-respected UK brewery. Earlier in his career he worked at a variety of Big Six breweries, starting in 1979 at Horsleydown, Courage’s London brewery. Which really gets my attention.

We discuss Russian Stout, a subject very close to my heart. Turns out, when it was brewed in Horsleydown, they genuinely did have someone who kicked the casks around the brewery yard.

While we chat. I have another Imperial Stout. It only seems appropriate.

It’s getting pretty late when we are driven back to the hotel. I crash, without even pausing for whisky.



Restaurant Pizzas del Bosque
Vicuña Mackenna 678,
4791118 Temuco,
Araucanía.

Disclaimer: The First International Araucania Cervercera Congress paid for my flights and for my hotel in Temuco, along with food and drink.