Atlanta (again)

It's my last full day in the US. So I allow myself a little lie in, rising only at 9.

Mike makes me a couple of fried eggs. Which I eat along with a bagel.

Needing to work at the brewery, Mike takes me out to the airport quite early.

There are gun warnings again before security. Not as many as at Atlanta. Still deemed necessary, though. Does that mean fewer guns here? Or just fewer people? Best not think about it too much.

It being a tiny airport, it doesn’t take long to get airside. How to fill the next couple of hours? I know: what about sitting in the bar?

I park my arse on a barstool and wonder what to order. Not really.

“A double Jack Daniels without ice, please.”

I get out my phone and message the family. Then start looking through the Guardian website. It passes the time.

The food isn’t too stupidly priced. An all-day breakfast is $15. I order one. It’s my second lot of fried eggs today. Just as well I like eggs.

“How much is a double whiskey?” I ask the barmaid. I don’t want to get caught out.

“Nineteen dollars.”

I’ll only be having the two, then.

It’s odd paying for drinks in an airport. It’s been quite a while since I last did it. I’d almost forgotten how fucking expensive it is. Almost.

The flight doesn’t take long. We’re in the air just 33 minutes. It’s cost me 5 euros per minute. Totally shit value.

With the little shuttle train to take the strain, there’s not much in the way of walking at Atlanta airport. Until I start looking for the taxi rank. Which is nowhere to be seen. Eventually I ask a security guard who points me in the right direction.

It’s around 5:30 PM. Not exactly the best time to be on the roads. Despite having seven lanes, the traffic stops and starts as we head into the centre. In most large US cities, the traffic seems to be terrible nowadays. I can’t understand why anyone puts up with it. I suppose they have no option, public transport being either crap or non-existent.

I’ve arranged to see Thomas Sjoberg at 18:30 in the Brick Store. But I’m not going to make that. It’s almost that time when I check into my hotel. I message Thomas to delay our meeting until 19:20.

Why have I arranged to meet in Brick Store, when I was there just last week? Because they have cask. And cask done properly. I really loved the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

The route is straight along Ponce de Leon Avenue. A long section is lined by mansions, set back from the road and surrounded by massive, mature trees. It looks very posh.

Thomas is standing outside when I arrive. He’s only just got there. We troll up to the cask ale bar. And order two Sierra Nevada Pale Ales.

We chat about all things beer. Like Thomas’s brewing job and judging international competitions. And about living in the USA.

The waitress remembers me from last week. She’s very friendly and enthusiastic.

Thomas tries some other beers. I just stick with Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. It’s dead good and when will I find it on cask again? It’s so drinkable. I could drink it all night. Which is exactly what I do.

We leave at about 10 PM. My Ethiopian cab driver is dead into English football. Unfortunately, he’s an Arsenal fan.

“Everyone hates Arsenal. They’re the New York Yankees of football.” I tell him/

I’m feeling a little peckish when I get back. The hotel’s restaurant has closed. And the Subway, where I got a sandwich last week is shut, too. About the only place open in Cook Out. A sort of barbecue place.

I order a wrap, onion rings and a cola. It’s stupid cheap, at just $7. It fills a hole. Being about exactly the right amount of food.

I don’t stay up too late. Even though I’ll be in no rush tomorrow, my flight not being until 15:20.

Whiskey is on hand to take my hand and lead me to glorious oblivion.




Brick Store Pub
125 E Court Square,
Decatur,
GA 30030.
https://www.brickstorepub.com/