Beer street

I meet Mikey a bit before nine for brekkie. Two fired eggs for me, English breakfast for him. He's kindly brought a Yorkshire tea bag for me. Mmmm proper tea. Enough for two cups.

I have various bits of fruit for pudding. Have to keep healthy. There's a long, sweaty day ahead of me.

After a bit of a rest, we make our way to the lake. It's not that far. But, in 36º C heat, any walk is tiring. 

The lake is rather pleasant, with well-tended gardens and shady trees lining its bank. And a couple of islands with temples on them. A surprisingly peaceful spot in such a busy city.

Luckily, there's a pub. The perfect place to cool down after our strenuous ten-minute walk. Did I mention that it’s effing hot? You know what would hit the spot? A cocktail. I get myself a margarita. Mikey has a beer. The wimp.

This is nice. Watching the world go by and sipping cocktails. How did my life go so wrong? To think I could still be working. Thank you, boss, for sacking me a couple of years ago. I've never looked back.

It’s all very relaxing. So we stay for a few. Cocktails for me, beer for Mikey. They aren’t expensive. That’s my excuse. And I’m on holiday. It’s not that far away from midday. Everyone knows that airport rules apply when you’re on holiday. It’s acceptable to drink at any time of day. Even 6 AM.

This is nice. Watching the world go by and sipping cocktails. How did my life go so wrong? To think I could still be working. Thank you, boss, for sacking me a couple of years ago. I've never looked back.

After few cocktails, we have another sweaty walk back to the hotel. Pausing only to buy fruit and vodka in a supermarket.

“How strong is that vodka?”

“Not sure. It’s quite hard to read on the bottle.”

“Let’s take a look. 29.9%? They’re taking the piss.”

“I’ll just water it down less.” Or not at all.

“You dilute vodka, Ronald?” I feel so ashamed.

On the way back to the hotel, we spot a rather flash car.

“Look at that, Mikey. A new Rolls Royce.”

“You can definitely feel the communism here.”

A rest and a shower later, we're ready for some food. Noodles, green stuff, spring rolls and meat balls in a broth. It's OK, but the broth is a bit sweet for Mikey's taste. At least it's cheap. We don’t manage to polish off the spring rolls and get a doggy bag.

They’re unlike any spring rolls I’ve had before. Thicker, meatier, more pastry. Pretty much totally unlike the ones I’ve had in Europe. Better? Worse? Different.

After literally chilling at the hotel, we then return to New Gentry. Where Mikey finds an expensive beer he likes: 1817 Porter. I have some IPA and DIPA. Being a pisshead. But, also, another Porter. I’m surprised they have so many of them here.

Thom Fade to Black English Porter, 6.7% ABV, 99K for 33 cl
A bit sourish. Not as good as the crazy Kurtz beer.

Labtory Factory Pale Ale, 6.3% ABV, 89K for 33 cl
Mikey orders this by mistake. He meant to get the 1817 Porter. I’m happy to drink it for him. It’s fine, in an American hoppy sort of way. At least it’s clear.

We don’t linger long. Mikey wants to go to Beer Street. Pretty sure that’s not its real name. It’s a place where lots of the bars are. So over we walk. It’s not far. Thankfully, as it’s fucking hot. Did I mention the heat here?

On the way we walk along a street that seems to be all toy shops.

“This must be toy shop street.” I remark.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice all the toy shops?”

“No.” Mikey must have his eyes on something else.

“Somewhere to avoid if you have small, demanding kids.”

“Or large demanding ones, like you.”

Beer Street turns out not to be the place for a quiet drink. More like total chaos. Tables and chairs spread onto the narrow street. Through which cars, mopeds and scooters squeeze. It's loud. Very loud. Why the hell are people here with their small kids?

I get a mojito, Mikey a beer. A woman comes up selling hats. Pretty cool ones. Mikey gets a green one. I get a black one with a red star. For Andrew. Mikey haggles to woman down from 100 K to 80 K each. A bargain.

We walk through a little of the chaos and settle on another random bar.

"Do you have cocktails?"

"No. Only mojito." Mojito it is, then.

We sit and watch the crowds stream by. Not sure I’d want to come and drink here every night. Not exactly relaxing. OK once for the experience.

“It must be great living in one of those flats opposite.” I remark.

“I suppose you get used to it. Or move.”

Just before leaving, I venture to the bog. Which is right next to the kitchen Neither looks very hygienic. What is that layer of liquid on the floor of the toilet? Best not to think too much about it. Just concentrate on not getting any on my clothes.

"I'm glad we didn't eat here."

"Why?"

"I've seen what the kitchen looks like."

Around 11, we wend our way back through the darkened streets. It's still 31 C. So pretty sweaty. Plenty of locals are sitting out on the street. How hot must it be in their homes?

After a bit of Standy-Uppy blokes I go to bed. And sleep like a baby. With only that fake vodka to nudge me sleepwards.