Flying North?

There's no rush today. We don't need to leave until midday. I get up around 8:30. Feeling a little on the rough side. A bit too much fun yesterday. And gin, I fear.

Sandy, Paddy and Sue are already eating when I get downstairs. I eat some scrambled egg and drink some tea. Then Chris arrives. Still looking tired.

A breakfast of cheese, toast and tea.

After breakfast I go back up to my room to type up the last two days. Not so much of a view today, as it's cloudy. Then it starts to rain.

When I've got everything typed up, I quickly run through my emails. I notice one from Sky and open it up to see if it's a check in reminder for tomorrow.

I don't really understand what it says. But I notice the time of the flight is different. Looking a little more closely, I notice the date is different, too. It's for Tuesday. And my flight back to Amsterdam is on Monday. Fuck.

I take my laptop downstairs and show it to Chris. It seems the bastards have changed my flight on me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Come into the airport with me and I'll speak to the Sky people." Chris suggests.

The rain is falling heavily as we snake our way down the valley. Spoiling the view of the mountains. The fields are sodden, dotted with melancholy sheep and cattle. Clouds obscure the volcanoes.

When we pull up at the airport, Camilo is just dropping off Markus, who's on the same flight as Chris. Markus checks in as Chris talks to one of the Sky agents for me.

It seems my flight tomorrow has been cancelled. That's why I was rebooked. Chris suggests that I get my flight changed to be the same as his.

"That's fine. I just want to make sure I get to Santiago in time for my Amsterdam flight. Booking a hotel in Santiago shouldn't be a problem."

After ten minutes or so of messing around, the agent rebooks me and checks me in. That's a relief. I have a boarding pass. I will make it to Santiago in time.

As we sit drinking a coffee airside, Chris phones the hotel I'm booked into tomorrow to see if they have a room for me tonight. Luckily, they do.

A rainy runway from the window of my plane.

Bags retrieved in Santiago, we jump into an Uber and head into town. Markus is staying quite close to me. We arrange to meet a little later at the Independent Republic of Pisco. Which, as it turns out, is just 50 metres from my hotel. Now there’s handy.

It's much warmer than in Temuco. Over 20 degrees. And sunny. It's quite a contrast. People are wearing shorts. The trees are putting on their summer clothes, too. Plenty of sprunging here.

After dumping my bags, I head on down to the Independent Republic of Pisco. Markus is already sitting outside with a pisco sour. Soon I have one, too. I’m sociable that way.

Two pisco sours with stars on the top.

After a couple of pisco sours, we order food. A beef sandwich for me. Ceviche for Markus.

“What did you think of the organisation in Temuco?” Markus asks.

“A bit chaotic. But not too bad. I try to keep my expectations low. It makes things far less annoying.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

We spend a few happy hours drinking pisco sours and chatting. We call it a day a little after eleven.

Back in my hotel, I watch Match of the Day. Well, other than the Arsenal game, as I know they won. The cheating bastards. I turn in around 1:00.

The last of the Tomatin propels me towards slumber town.



Chipe Libre - Républica Independiente del Pisco
José Victorino Lastarria 282,
8320165 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
https://www.chipe-libre.cl/
 

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

 

Conferencing again

I rise at 7:30. But the fist talk is supposed to start at 8:30. I have a very rushed breakfast. Yet again. It’s been a recurring theme in Temuco. There’s not even time for a photo.

We're in a different room. A much better one. Which is reasonably warm, if the door is kept closed. That’s not always the case, unfortunately. I’m a bit disappointed that I won’t be speaking in amongst the locomotives. Though, ultimately, I’d prefer not to freeze my arse off.

Asbjorn talking at the conference

Asbjorn is on first. Talking about quality control. Then it's Marcus on the topic of Rauchbier. His presentation has quite a bit of video and is very visual. Which is a good idea when so many of the audience don’t speak English.

Pete leaves at the end of the talk. And we hurry outside for a group photo. Chris has to drag Pete back.

Photos snapped, it’s time for Paddy on brewing cask beer. Interesting stuff. Especially the stuff about serving from a vertical cask. I’d heard about it but didn’t know exactly how it worked.

And, finally, it's me. It's 13:30 when I start and I manage to rush through it in an hour. I speak so quickly the interpreter says she had trouble keeping up with me.

The audience looks rather bemused. How much did they understand? I fear that it’s a long way short of 100%. Oh well. I hope they got something from it.

All the judges are supposed to be going up to Lonquimay. But Markus isn't keen. Leaving just Paddy, Sue, Sandy, Chris and me. To make sure to get there nice and early, we leave straight away, not even bothering with lunch. We really don’t want to be travelling in the dark again. Far too scary.

I finally travel up the mountain both awake and in daylight. I can soak in the countryside all the way to Lonquimay. It's weird seeing monkey-puzzle trees growing wild. Some quite massive. With candidly white volcano cones as a backdrop. That’s a bonus of it being a clear day.

Lonquimay and the mountains

Something I almost forgot to mention. I arrived at the arse end of Chille’s national celebrations. Which take up the best part of a week. There are Chilean flags everywhere. Children even fly kite versions. Every house, even the crappiest wooden shack, has a flag flying outside at this time of year.  

We arrive at 16:30. Well before nightfall. And are greeted by a smiling Boris. Who has already started barbecuing the beef. Me, Chris and Paddy go outside to have a look. It's dead impressive.

Beef barbbecuing

Back inside, I get a Zipa. It’s far better on draught than the bottled version I judged a few days ago. Confirming what I suspected: it’s packaging not brewing that’s the problem in Chile.

After a couple of beers, it's time to eat. The table is already groaning under the wight of food before the barbecue comes out.

Boris's homemade sausages

First pork sausages. Made by Boris. They are delicious. Then it's time for the beef. Which is also really good. I’m stuffed by the time I’m finished.

Boris and his beef

“I’m glad we skipped lunch now. “ Sue remarks. She’s not wrong. A meal deserving of an appetite.

Finally, my favourite hour rolls around: gin time. We start with cocktails the restaurant manageress has made using their own tonic water (Perkins brand). Then we get to make our own, with different types of tonic water and botanicals. Mine is mostly gin, with a splash of tonic, hibiscus, juniper berries and cardamon.

“No surprise Ron’s is mostly gin.”

What do they mean? It's quite nice. If rather alcoholic. A bit like me.

Paddy and gin

Boris's girlfriend arrives. And we drink more gin. This is lots of fun, playing around with different combinations of tonics and botanicals. Hibiscus is my favourite.

The others gradually drift off to bed, leaving just me and Chris. We stay up later. Until midnight or so, when we crawl upstairs to bed.

Where did all that gin go?



Cervecería & Lodge Lonquimay
Lonquimay,
Araucania.
http://www.cervezalonquimay.cl/ 

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

Conferencing

First day of the conference. It's supposed to kick off at 8:45. I'm up at 7:30. But by the time I've done all my pottering around. It's 8:20.

I only have time for a slice of toast with cheese and a quick cup of tea before we're herded into the van.

[Imagine a photograph of a very sad breakfast.]

It's misty and freezing cold. It turns out the conference will be in the national railway museum. Which is in an old roundhouse.

A vintage train looming out of the mist

We’re dropped at the front gates. Which are quite a way from the roundhouse. I feel really sorry for Sandy, who’s not verry mobile after a fall just a day before travelling to Chile. She accepts the long walk very stoically.  Much more so than I would. Wimp that I am.

The talks were supposed to be in the roundhouse itself, next to the locomotives. But it's too cold. We're moved to a smaller room. Almost no-one is there when we arrive. It's more like 9:45 when things kick off. Who could have predicted that?

There's no possibility of having a translation through headphones. Instead, the interpreter just sits behind us. Luis gives a speech first. Followed by a regional government official. Then it's Asbjorn's turn. Finally this morning, it’s the turn of Pete Slosberg.

Pete has to speak a sentence at a time which is then translated by the interpreter. It slows things down a lot. If it's like that for me, my talk will take over two hours. Given the circumstances, Pete’s talk is exceptional. Including an impromptu section on the need for cooperation between small brewers.

In the lunch break, Camilo takes me, Pete and Marcus to the covered market. Which is pretty massive. Outside the halls proper, there’s an informal market at the side of the road. That’s very Chilean.

Food stalls in Temuco market.

We walk around for a while. It’s mostly fruit and veg. With some sections dedicated to cheese or sausage. And spice stalls, which is where we’re headed.

To get down to the business in hand: buying merken. That’s the roasted chili powder locals add to everything. Pete gets ten different ones. I just get four. That’s a present for Dolores sorted. And just two euros for the lot.

Buying merken in Temuco market.

Camilo says he knows a good place to eat, Zuny Tradiciones Where they have Mapuche-inspired food. Camilo gets the route slightly wrong and we bump along a dirt track running past wooden shacks. Just as well we’re in a four-wheel drive.

“It’s OK. I know we can get through. I’ve been this way on my bike.”

Strange fruit in Temuco market.

That’s sort of reassuring. After a while we pop back out onto a paved road and there we are. At the restaurant. On a street with wheelless cars.

When we enter, a woman is playing guitar and singing. Most of the tables are occupied but we manage to grab one which has just been vacated.

No pisco sours here, unfortunately. Only wine. Camilo suggests fruit juice. We get four different ones. Not so sure about the one with beetroot. The one I go for, kiwi and mint, is delicious.

Mixed vegetables topped with slabs of beef.

On Camilo’s suggestion, we all order a dish of mixed vegetables with meat. Three types of meat: beef, pork and chicken. It’s dead good. Especially with added merken, which here is liquid rather than powder. Easily the healthiest meal I’ve had so far.

When We get back, a professor from one of the town’s universities is giving a talk on using spent grain as food. In the main hall. Part way through, I get headphones for a translation. Luckily, there's beer. I have an IPA. Or two. They’re only small paper cups, after all.

Presenting between locomotives.

Between talks, I have a closer look at some of the locomotives. Especially the big, muscular steam engines. I assume that they were built in the USA. I’m wrong. In reality, they were constructed by Mitsubishi in Japan.

Sandy is on next. Giving her talk seated. Which is understandable. It’s about women in brewing. A fascinating, and mostly neglected, subject.

When she's done, there are nibbles. And a live band. Well, part of a live band. They look like heavy metal. But the first part is two acoustic guitars and a violin. Then it becomes an electric guitar, singer and pre-recorded backing track. And very heavy metal. Lots of shaking their long hair around.

Part of a heavy metal band.

When the food runs out, we head back to the hotel. On the way I get chatting about German beer history with Markus. It’s good to discuss the topic with someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.

I mention the book celebrating 100 years of the Deutscher Brauer Bund and how it completely skips the Nazi period.

“The 150th anniversary book does cover it.” He tells me. “Because I wrote it.”

“That sounds interesting. I’d like to read that.”

“I’ll send you the text.”

“Thanks.” That’s very nice of him.

Wet only briefly nip into the hotel. Stuff dropped off, we set off for Caravan. Which isn't far. It's billed as an Irish pub. Though it seems a rather vague theme. They do sell lots of different beers, however,

Marcus and Pete are already there, with pisco sours, when I arrive with Paddy and Chris. I get a pisco sour, too. Just to be sociable. And I don’t really fancy any of the draught beers.

I spotted St. Bernard in Temuco.

We order some seafood. A sharing platter. But I don't eat much. just a squid ring and a mussel topped with parmesan. I’m not really hungry. Which isn’t the case of the others. They order a second round of food.

People drift off and eventually it’s just me and Chris. We have a whisky nightcap. As you do.

Now here’s a dilemma. We've been invited to Strom. Should we go? It’s getting pretty late and it will take us 15 minutes to walk there. When the owner says he'll come and collect us, the decision is made. It’s getting on for 23:30 when we leave.

Bonnet beer taps at Strom.

Strom’s pub is called the Monster Kustom Bar It's like a sort of rock bar. There’s a motorbike and various bits of cars as décor. It’s a very industrial look.

We have an Imperial Stout. You can never go wrong with an Imperial Stout.

We can't stay long as we need to be at the hotel by midnight. It's half past by the time we get back but Chris has warned them.

I go straight to bed. I had my nightcap earlier.




Museo Nacional Ferroviario Pablo Neruda
Av. Barros Arana 0565,
Temuco,
Araucanía.
https://museoferroviariopabloneruda.cl/visitanos/ 

Zuny Tradiciones Restaurant
Gral. Cruz 0560,
4780000 Temuco,
Araucanía.


Caravan Resto Beer
Av. Alemania 0740,
4810214 Temuco,
Araucanía.


Monster Kustom Bar
Phillippi 438,
4801058 Temuco,
Araucanía. 

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

Up in the Andes

“It's a pity it'll be dark when we arrive." Chris told me yesterday. "Because the view is amazing."

I rise just around dawn. And he's not wrong. The view out of my room's window is incredible. As the first rays strike the peaks and turn them to gold. God, I love Chile. It’s so beautiful.

The Andes at Lonquimay at dawn

It’s a toasty 23º C in my room according to the thermostat. The only time I’ve been properly warm since landing in Temuco.

I'm the first down for breakfast. Which makes a change. Paddy comes down soon after. With more fascinating tales of the brewing industry in the 1980s. He worked at so many long-closed breweries: M&B Springfield, Cape Hill, Highgate, George’s, Horsleydown.

A breakfast of two fried eggs, fruit and tea.

By the time Chris comes down, I've polished off my two fried eggs. And have moved onto fruit. Got to get some healthy stuff into my body. It’s a pretty good spread. But only instant coffee. I drink tea. Very nice Twinings tea.

Boris turns up and takes us to the malt room. Which is incredibly hot. When we progress down to the brewery, I realise why. The copper is under the malt room. It's heating up. And is directly fired by a gas burner. Quite spectacular. Not something you see every day.

Copper with burner underneath

When the water is hot enough, it's filled into the mash tun. And we return to the malt room to add the malt. Not that I do any lifting of sacks. That's too much like work. Something which, as a happily retired man, I never plan doing again.

Paddy, who has over 40 years’ experience as a brewer, has some detailed comments about the setup. Especially the mash tun, which is a tall, narrow cylinder.  A mash tun is ideally wide and shallow.

Lots of constructive suggestions follow from Paddy. Boris, keen to learn, asks lots of questions. This is what was supposed to be happening at the conference and surrounding events. Local brewers benefitting from the knowledge and experience of the foreign experts. It’s happening in spades here.

Not sure where I fit in. All I know about is history. At least the recipe is mine. Or. At least, started out that way.

Boris shows us where the new brew house he's bought from China will be installed. This is the view:

Brewhouse view of the Andes

Once we're mashed in, Paddy and Sue head off for a walk.

"Do you want to come along, Ron?"

"No, that looks like too much climbing for me."

Ah, the joy of growing old. Hills are off the agenda permanently. Unless someone is prepared to carry me. Don’t think there’s much chance of that.

Instead of torturing myself., I sit in the warmth of the bar, gazing at the mountains. I've not got bored of them yet. Typing up notes on my laptop and slowly sipping on a pint of Pewenche, a dark 8% beer. The brewer asked yesterday what style I thought it was. "Dark Mild." was my reply. Before I found out it was 8% ABV. Knowing that, I'd go with Burton Ale.

The rooms are all named after their beers. Coincidentally, I’m staying in the one called Pewenche.

I haven’t told you what the beer is that we’re brewing yet, have I? It’s based on an 1890s Thomas Usher Shilling Ale recipe. Based being the operative word. There have been a few tweaks.

While everyone is away, four young people arrive. They don’t look like customers and don’t buy anything. They just stand around. Who the hell are they?

It's quite a while before Paddy and Sue come back. They've been to look at a volcano. Not something you can do often in the UK. They’re accompanied by the owner of Metrulo, another tiny brewery nearby.

Boris is very passionate and very energetic. He built the brewery, bar and hotel himself. I don’t mean totally on his own, but without a builder.

While we’re waiting for the mash to run off, we eat lunch. I have Chilean shepherd's pie (as Chris describes it): ground maize on the top, boiled egg, chicken and ham underneath - it's really good.

Chilean shepherd's pie

The other brewer has brought four beers, which we sample after lunch. Three of them are nice and clean. The fourth, Cream Porter, is a gusher. The beer goes all over the table and the poor bloke’s phone. It’s all a bit of a mess.

After lunch, the brew is ready for boiling. Paddy adds the hops standing on a rather rickety ladder. Rather him than me. I declined the opportunity.  Done it plenty of times before. Much more safely.

It turns out the young people are some sort of regional government officials. Checking on what we’re up to. They seem pretty impressed with Paddy’s detailed suggestions to Boris regarding process. It’s like a free consultancy

When we’ve finished cleaning up, we drive back to Temuco. Initially, there’s stunning mountain scenery. Then it looks like England, lush and green - except with snow-capped volcanoes in the background. That doesn’t stop me nodding off. It is a 2.5 hours drive.

Many of the wooden houses have a medieval look, with the first floor protruding a half metre or so. What that’s all about? It features in both old and brand-new houses.

Small food shops are everywhere. In Lonquimay and randomly at points along the road. Laden with brightly-painted signs advertising Crystal beer and Pepsi Cola. Along with holiday cabins, shops make up most of the rare structures scattered by the roadway.

Fields and pastures surf over the hills, uninterrupted save for brave stands of trees, tall and upright. Pines hum a dull green. Barren deciduous cousins sprout the barest flashes of green from their fingertips. Spring hasn’t quite sprung.

Biergarten Klein interior on a sunny day

We go straight to Klein where we meet Markus and Asbjorn. Markus has his favourite mix of draught beers and goes behind the bar to pour it. He must have done it before, as none of the staff bat an eyelid. Or maybe they’re really laid back.

I have an Imperial Stout. A pint, obviously. But I don’t want to fill myself up. So, I switch to gin. The London Dry gin, to be precise. Very fragrant. It slips down a treat. It was my favourite of the three I tried on my first night in Temuco.

We go outside where Camilo is barbecuing delicious steak. 

Camilo barbecues steak

Pete comes back from his collaboration brew and isn't happy because he had to give a talk he wasn't warned of. I understand his annoyance. It’s not nice being ambushed that way. It appears it was the same type of government officials who visited us who insisted on the talks. I think Paddy’s masterclass got us out of giving impromptu presentations.

I’m not hungry at all. That doesn’t stop me grabbing a cube of beef every time they come past. Damn, that’s nice.

I drink more gin. It is rather good. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Sue has never tried straight gin before. Only mixed with tonic. Judging by the look on her face, I don’t think she’ll be dropping the tonic anytime soon.

I get to bed about eleven. Flopping down to immediate sleep.



Biergarten Klein
Los Ganaderos 03326,
4811829 Temuco,
Araucanía.
http://www.klein.cl/


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

Ice tasting

A breakfast of cheese, fruit juice and tea.

By the time I'm done it's 8:20. Just about time for a minimal breakfast. One slice of toast with cheese, juice and a small cup of tea. Not really enough to sustain me for any length of time.

We're driven to Del Bosque, site of the tasting. Where it's freezing cold. And the whole front of the building is open. Fat chance of it ever warming up.

I'm on a table with Sandy. The tiny heater behind her is powerless against the waves of cold air coming from the open front. Even with my coat zipped up, it's chilly. Why does nowhere in Chile have proper heating? Especially as far south as this.

We have 24 beers to judge. Though, unusually, we can see what they are. This is an open tasting. Not that it makes much difference. I've no idea who most of the brewers are.

There's nothing really awful. But many of the beers are oxidised. We're done in a couple of hours. Without any real arguments. Sandy is very experienced and picks up much more than I, the total amateur, do.

Judging done, it's time for lunch. I order a steak like yesterday. And have a couple of pisco sours to go with it. Because, well, why wouldn’t I?

Temuco downtown

After lunch, we're off to Klein. Where, after a quick look at the still, we start the brewer feedback session. Where we talk to the brewers about their beers that we judged. Luckily, Sandy took reams of notes. She's way more professional than me.

I have a couple of Camilo's gins to keep me going. The brewers could probably do with it more.

They look a bit shellshocked after the feedback from Sandy. She’s brutally honest, but also constructive in her comments. It’s quite odd having judges directly give their opinions to brewers. Hopefully, it helps them improve their beers. And they can sleep tonight.

About 18:30, we go back to the hotel. Me, Paddy, Sue and Chris. To pick up an overnight bag for our expedition to the mountains. Traffic is terrible and it takes us ages to get to the hotel. It's 19:30 by the time we set off for Lonquimay, where Paddy and I will be doing a collaboration brew.

It's a long trip. 2.5 hours. Rain has just stopped. As always seems to be the case here. We slip along the damp roads. Layers of green wrap the gentle hills. Trees clump in rows and squares. Wild and exotic. Massive monkey-puzzle trees stand watch. Clumps of yellow flowers explode from the earth.

Though most of the journey is in the dark. Which is a shame as the scenery as we approach the hotel is supposed to be spectacular.

Curacautín, the only place of any size once past the pull of Temuco’s gravity, has a neat boulevard, only spoilt by the approach being an abrupt 90-degree bend. With another right-angle bend after 500 metres. That’s the strength of a rigid grid plan for you.

The further we get from Temuco, the worse the roads get. I don't know how the driver can see where he's going. Worryingly, I suspect he can’t really. I prefer not to think about it too much and doze instead.

We enter a 4.5 km tunnel that’s only wide enough for one-way traffic. When we emerge, there's snow on the ground.

“Was that a railway tunnel? It looks like one.” I ask. It turns out it was. Built as part of a failed plan to connect the Pacific and Atlantic oceans by rail. The tunnel was later repurposed for road traffic. 

A platter of meat, onion rings and chips

 We're stopping at the hotel attached to the Lonquimay brewery. It looks like a ski lodge, with lots of wood. Chris rang ahead to order us some food: a sharing platter for four. With chips, onion rings and various types of meat. To be honest, I’m a bit past eating.

The only other customers are a couple of blokes watching footy on the TV.  Boca Juniors against Colo Colo, a Chilean team. I think it’s a Copa Libertadores game.

I have an interesting chat with Paddy about M&B, S&N and Courage, where he worked. It turns out Whorton Grange was a well-designed brewery. Closed when the land became too valuable. Not because it was impractical or unprofitable. You learn something new every day.

It's getting on for midnight when we turn in. No need for a nightcap. It’s been a long and tiring day.



Cervecería & Lodge Lonquimay
Lonquimay,
Araucania.
http://www.cervezalonquimay.cl/

 

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

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.