But this is a beer blog, not a history blog. So back to the fizzy stuff. The plan was to take the ferry from Gammy Stan (I wonder who Stan was? Must have been important if they named the centre of town after him.) I live in Amsterdam, so I know all about tourist overload. But Vasterlangatan was still a shock. Lexie was happy, though. He bought himself a Swedish flag. He has a thing about flags. I wonder where that DDR flag is? I hope Dolores didn't throw it away like the portrait of Erich Honecker.It was hot. Very hot. And 11:15. Time for a beer. I would have gone into Zum Franziskaner. But they don't open until 11:30. I wasn't going to wait 15 minutes for a beer. I'm not made of steel. Luckily there was an O'Leary's at hand.
"A Carnegie Porter, please." "A what?" Unlike the O'Leary's built into our hotel, they didn't sell Carnegie Porter. The draught beer selection was totally thrabbly. Falcon, Carlsberg, Guinness, Kilkenny. Multinational shit. The nice waitress brought me a menu so I could give the bottled options a look over. The choice wasn't much better. I did something I usually try to avoid. Ordered a non-local beer. A Spaten. I know, Spaten is part of a multinational concern. But it's better than Carlsberg.
The nice waitress brought us some popcorn. For free. That's lunch for the kids sorted out. Possibly dinner, too.Almost forgot to mention. I almost fell over the Glenfiddich Warehouse No. 68. I was attracted by the German inscriptions on the first floor. It was a while before I noticed it was one of my target pubs. What luck. And only 5 hours to go before it opened. "Dolores, do you mind waiting here a little?"
We didn't take the ferry to the Vasa museum after all. There was a queue several hundred yards long. We took the rather more prosaic option of the bus. I would relate our experiences inside the museum. But I'm hot and typing ties up my drinking arm.
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