Doing my talking thing

No rush today. I rise at 8:00 and go for brekkie.

As there's no bacon, it's back to scrambled egg and cheese. With fruit for pudding. I sit with Michael Helzer, one of the American judges. We have a good chat.

I send the family a picture of my breakfast. It looks rather pretty, with the sunlight shining across it. Let’s see the bastards complain about that.

After breakfast, I go back to my room to chill for a while. Today there are the talks. Mine is scheduled for 14:00. As the morning ones are all in Spanish, I don't go there until midday.

Surprise, surprise: they're running late.

Hernán Testa, the Argentinian hops bloke is talking about . . . Argentinian hops. The bits I can understand are pretty interesting.

The next talk is by some people who make a hop oil. There's some beer to go with this one. Three different versions of the same beer. One dry hopped with 100% pellets, one 65% pellets and 35% hop oil and one with 35% pellets and 65% hop oil. At least it gives me something to drink.

For my talk, I speak a couple of sentences and then the interpreter translates them into Spanish. It interrupts my flow a bit. But does give me a chance to drink some beer while the interpreter is taking.

My talk is about Irish Porter and Stout. I should probably update it. I wrote it a while ago and have since got hold of a lot more Irish brewing records. In particular, examples of heading, the sort of Kräusen used in Ireland.

I get through my beer so quickly, I have to request a refill. That’s a first. Just making sure my throat doesn’t get too dry. Wouldn’t want to get hoarse. Usually, I only get to take a sip or two, as I keep rattling away.

When I'm done, I sell a few more books. Which is good. I'm nicely building up dosh in my PayPal account. Dolores will be so happy. Why have I never brought books with me to sell before? Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.

There are three talks after me, two of which are in English. One from Martin Zuber about creating Lager recipes for craft brewers. And another by Mike Hall about Bathtub Row, the cooperative brewery he helped.

I stand around and chat a bit when the last talk is done. And drink some beer. Before heading back to the hotel in an Uber with a couple of other judges.

Tonight, there's a visit to Hasta Pronto, another brewery. But I'm too tired for that. Especially as it's a 40-minute ride away. Instead, I drop by the supermarket again. For bread, milk, cheese and pisco. As my hotel whisky is all drunk. And some biscuit things for Lexxie.

On the way back to the hotel, someone says hi. It's John, an American brewer who brews further south in Chile, whom I met in Temuco a couple of years ago.

I watch some YouTube and eat a little. All very quiet and restful. Which is exactly what I need.

I turn in around 23:00.



Disclaimer: Copa ACI paid for my accommodation, some meals and some beer. 

 

You can fins a video report of my trip here: 

Best of Show

It’s an early start. I rise at 6:45. And go upstairs for breakfast.

The good news: they have bacon. And mango juice. A win-win. I slurp down coffee and mango juice with my food. I have fruit for my pudding.

I remember to send the family a snap of the glorious scrambled egg and bacon. And a second of my fruit pudding.

The family’s response is rather dispiriting.

“Why do you just send photos of boring plates of food?” Alexei messages me.

“You find my breakfasts boring?”

“Yes, it’s just the same scrambled egg and bacon.”

“That’s not true. Most days it’s been scrambled egg and cheese.”

“That’s even more boring. Just yellow stuff.”

“Excuse me.”

“Send some more interesting photos.”

“OK. I’ll send you some photos of buildings.”

“That’s not much better. Isn’t it autumn down there? Can’t you take pictures of that?”

“The trees haven’t started to change colour yet. And I’m in the middle of the city.”

“You always have an excuse.”

“It’s called a reason>”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The view from the breakfast room is pretty spectacular. That’s what you get for being on the twelfth floor. In the background, behind the high rises of the city, lurk the snow-topped Andes. 

I send my family a photo of the view. Maybe that’ll stop the fuckers complaining.

I get outside around 8:00. A few judges are chatting there. But no-one is going anywhere. It's pushing 9:00 when we get to the judging site. Where they aren't ready. Again. Partly because the local judges are all stuck in traffic. You have to get used to things starting late when you’re in South America.

It's 10:15 by the tine judging kicks off. We have four beers left over from yesterday: Three Robust Porters and one Old Ale.

Once we've got those out of the way, it's time for some homebrew judging. Weirdly, none of the homebrew beers have bad faults. Unlike quite a few of the professional beers. A couple of the Stouts are really rather good. Judging is full of surprises.

We're done by 12:45. Nothing more to do until lunch at 14:00. Which is why I'm writing this. Got to keep myself occupied. I wouldn’t like to get bored.

In the meantime, I'm shifting quite a few books. Which will please Dolores. With any luck, I'll sell all of the ones I've brought.

Lunch is a steak again. Quite a small one this time. But enough for me. I have a fascinating chat with Hernán Testa, the Argentinian hops bloke while I’m eating. And Michael Helzer, an American. Two pretty engaging and informed conversation partners.

In the afternoon, I'm judging the Best of Show. We have to wait quite a while for the stewards to sort out the beers. But I’ve had worse. I try to keep positive. No matter what my family say.

“You’re so negative, Dad.”

“Just realistic.”

“Cynical, more like.”

I’ve had some bad experiences with judging BOS in the past. Hopefully this won’t be another. 

There are five of us. And 29 beers. Which is quite a lot. Nothing I judged earlier, as we didn't award any gold medals on my table. The table is large but there’s only just about room for all the beers.

There are some excellent ones, which makes the process more difficult. Luckily, there are no opinionated twats on the panel. And we can come to an agreement on the medal winners reasonably quickly. Without any unpleasantness.

I send the family a snap of the table full of beers. It isn’t a plate of food and it isn’t all yellow. Let’s see them complain about that.

In the evening there's a pub crawl, finishing at Intrinsical. But I'm feeling totally knacked and just go back to the hotel. Only venturing out to visit the supermarket for some milk, bread and cheese. Even that 100 metre walk is a struggle. I’m so fucking exhausted.

I send the family a picture of the spirits shelves in the supermarket. Specifically, the Havana Club. I know Andrew will enjoy that.

“Looks just like how I remember it.” He replies.

He’s so sweet.

I watch some stuff on Ziggo and sip my hotel whisky. Before turning in pretty early. A good long rest is what I need. As I’ll be giving a talk tomorrow. I need to be at my best for that.

At least it won’t be an early start.



Disclaimer: Copa ACI paid for my accommodation, some meals and some beer. 

  

You can fins a video report of my trip here: 

Hanging around

I'm up early. At 7:20. Feeling fairly crap. After a shower, I feel a bit better. 

Judging is due to start at 9 AM. Right. No way that will happen. 10:30 AM is guess. At the earliest.

I go upstairs for breakfast. No bacon, sadly. There are both scrambled and fried eggs, mind. I go for the former and cheese. Followed by fruit. It’s not a bad spread. With boiled eggs, too. Pastries, cheese, salami. Not bad at all. It almost makes up for the lack of bacon. Almost.

I send the family a picture of my breakfast. I know they’re fascinated by what I eat when I’m away. And I don’t want to disappoint them. 

Surprise, surprise. The start of judging is delayed. First to 10. Then to 12:30. We are in South America, after all. At least we aren’t just hanging around at the judging venue.

I spend the time laying around in my room. Only punctuated by a quick trip to the supermarket around the corner. Where I buy bananas and milk.

At the judging location – the restaurant La Parrilla del Guatón Jerez – there’s some more hanging around. At first outside, then inside.

At 13;30, they still aren’t ready. And we have lunch. Which is a steak and potato salad. A pretty nice steak. I order a beer to go with it. A half litre. Normally, I’d never drink beer during a judging day. Just feel like a beer.

I don’t forget to send the family a picture of my steak. I’m sure that they’ll love to see what I’m eating. 

While eating, I have a chance to talk to some of the other judges. Who are a sociable bunch.

Judging is in the same place. Finally kicking off at around 15:00. Only six hours late. A record, I think. Luckily, 3.5 hours of the wait were in my hotel room. Though I could have got up 90 minutes later. Which would have been nice.

I’m table captain. With Valeria, a local I’ve judged with before, and Columbian Jose. Not sure if being the captain is a good thing. Will it mean more work? I hope not. I hate work. That’s why I retired at 63.

We start with five non-alcoholic beers. That's always fun. They’re surprisingly good. Well, surprisingly non-horrible. Mostly.

After that, it’s pretty much all UK styles. Which is par for the course, when I’m the table captain. Not sure it it’s a good or a bad thing, 

At least Irish Red isn’t on the list. A style I’ve judged six or seven times. And never had an even vaguely decent beer. It’s not just a matter of personal taste. They were technically bad beers, with serious faults. My heart always drops when I see the style on my schedule.

Most of the flights are pretty small, just a couple of beers. Which I like. Other than Scottish Export, of which there are nine examples. Probably about as many as are brewed in Scotland nowadays.

The captaincy doesn’t involve much extra work. Thankfully. Other than clicking a couple of buttons. And, after my career in IT, I’m rather good at clicking buttons.

There’s only one beer with butyric acid – baby sick – across all the flights. Which is a plus. 

Some of our scores are quite far apart. But we manage to come to a consensus without too much arguing. And keep up a pretty decent pace.

We don’t award a huge number of medals. Just a silver and a couple of bronzes.

It's getting late and we still aren't done. We finish at 20:00, with four beers unjudged. We'll do them tomorrow. Despite only judging for five hours, I feel knacked. It’s been an odd and slightly frustrating day.

The plan is to go to brewpub Mango. I decide to give it a miss and go back to the hotel. It’s just getting too late. Even if I just have a couple of beers, with travelling time, I’ll be lucky to be back in the hotel by 23:00.

I buy a sandwich in the hotel, feeling to knackered to walk around the corner to the supermarket. I watch Champions League quarter final highlights on Ziggo. While sipping a little hotel whisky. Just for medicinal purposes, obviously.

When I’ve finished my sandwich, I realise that I haven’t sent the family a photo of it. Hopefully they don’t notice. I’d hate to let them down.

I turn in at 23:00. It's an early start tomorrow. We're being picked up at 7:45. Well, that's the plan. Let's see if that actually happens.

Just a couple of sips of whisky. I’m too desperate for sleep to drink more. Andrew would be so disappointed in me.



La Parrilla del Guatón Jerez
Av. Padre Hurtado 1460, 
Vitacura,
Santiago.
http://www.laparrilladelguatonjerez.cl/


Disclaimer: Copa ACI paid for my accommadation, some meals and some beer. 

 

You can fins a video report of my trip here: 

Long journey south

 It's a late start. My flight is at 21:10. I get a cab at 18:00.

“How much Spanish do you know, Dad?” Alexei asked yesterday.

“Not quite as much as Portuguese.”

“Practically none, then”

“I know some words. Banos. Gracias.Por favor.”

“As I said, practically none”

“It’s all I really need.”

“Old people like you always need to know where the toilets are.”

“Exactly.”

“I was taking the piss, Dad.”

“I know.”

“You’re weird.”

“I know.”

The airport isn't too busy, as it's getting late. It's not long before I'm in the lounge grabbing whisky. and a little something to eat. Though I do drop by the duty free to get some hotel whisky. I’m amazed to be able to afford an Islay whisky: Bunnahabhain

I don't go crazy. As I've a long flight. A very long flight. 18 hours, all told. Too long to turn up smashed. Being deeply cynical about the food I’ll be served on the flight, I get down some food ballast.

The flight is pretty full. Almost every seat taken. Just before we take off, a flight attendant comes along and says something to the woman next to me. Who then disappears off somewhere. I assume she's been upgraded. Just after take-off, she returns. Which is a bummer. Where has she been? 

After an hour or so they feed us some slop. It's just about edible. Especially after I sharpen up my wine with some illicit whisky miniatures.

Eating done, I have a good kip. A long kip. Like seven hours. Then I doze for another couple of hours. Which is the best way to handle such a long flight. The first leg to Buenos Aires is 13.5 hours. I don't even watch anything until the last couple of hours. When we're served a breakfast. Of which I just eat the fruit.

We have the fun of deplaning in Buenos Aires. And going through security again. Before hanging around at the gate for a while. Such a joy, early in the morning.

The plane is much emptier on the second leg, with both the seats to my left empty. Which would give me a great view if the Andes. If the wing weren't in the way.

We’re served a warm, savoury pastry. I eat some of it. My stomach is playing up a bit. Just what I need.

As we start to descend into Santiago, there's a cloud layer completely obscuring the city. Or is it smog? It's hard to tell from up here. Let’s hope it’s the former. For the sake of my lungs.

I dodge the long queue for immigration with my oldie priority. Of which I'm very thankful.

All the time gained is lost as I wait ages for my bag to pop out. I thought it was supposed to have priority?

My lift is waiting for me. Thankfully. I had a couple of airport transfers not show up recently. Which was dead fucking annoying. 

We rumble along the motorway for a while. Past light industrial units and dusty hills. My hotel is on the other side of town. But tunnels makes the journey relatively short.

Soon I'm checking into my hotel. Unfortunately, my room isn't free. Luckly, Chris arranges for me to use the room of a couple of German judges while they're out exploring the city.

I'm just starting to get nicely relaxed when the phone rings. It's reception telling me that my room is ready. Great!

Despite kipping on the plane, I'm knacked. And spend most of the day dozing on the bed vaguely watching NHK English service.

My stomach isn't feeling great. Nor is my left side, where there’s a throbbing pain. And I can't get properly to sleep. I don’t even feel like drinking any of my duty-free whisky. Oh, the joys of growing old!

Chris is supposed to pick me up at 18:45 to take me to the judges' dinner at Flannery’s Irish Geo Pub. He hasn't turned up by 19:20 and I take an Uber with Mike Hall.

With my stomach turning somersaults, I can't eat or drink much. I manage a token chip and a few mouthfuls of beer before heading back to the hotel. Where I turn in almost immediately. It's only 22:00. I don’t even have a sip of hotel whisky.

With my stomach still feeling shit and the pain in my side, I have a disturbed sleep. Waking multiple times. Bum.



Flannery’s Irish Geo Pub
Encomenderos 379, 
Las Condes,
Santiago.

 

You can fins a video report of my trip here:

 

Santiago, April 2026

Another travel video. South America again. Chile, to be precise.

 

My 2025: pubs

Something I really love, pubs. How much time have I spent in them over the last 50 years? Not enough. Not nearly enough.

The year started with Checkpoint Charlie as my Amsterdam local. And ended with it replaced by the Butcher's Tears shop. Cheaper and it sells Stout. I get to chat with Eric, too.

Boteco Colarinho Escondido in Copacabana is one of my favourite spots in South America. Good beer and pretty decent food. Also great for watching the beautiful people on their way to and from Copacabana beach.

Staying in South America, the Tübinger Taproom outside Santiago in Chile is a wonderful spot. Surrounded by vineyards and backed by the mighty Andes. A magical place to indulge in a pint or seventeen.

Buenos Aires has several lovely old bars, of which Bar El Federal is a great example. Cosy, popular and with great local food. What more could you ask for? Cocktails. Which they also have.

How could I leave out Cooper's Original Ale House in Adelaide? A beautiful old Aussie pub with a dizzying range of Cooper's beers. Including their delicious Stout. Yum.

Talking of traditional Aussie pubs, the Napier Hotel is a great example. New to me, though I spent plenty of time in Fitzroy when I lived in Melbourne. How did I never visit this beautiful old pub? It has a multi-room layout reminiscent of a Yorkshire corridor pub. Lovely leaded glass, too. And a good selection of beer.

In Brisbane, I spent time in another couple of great pubs. The Empire Hotel in Fortitude Valley had an odd Aussie charm. And pretty cheap craft beer and food. And what can I say of the Breakfast Creek hotel? A beautiful old pub with Castlemaine XXXX served straight from a wooden cask.

Not really a pub, Welcome Ren Min stall in the Maxwell Food Centre in Singapore has a charm all of its own. And sells good beer and decent prices (for Singapore).
 

Flying north

I drag myself out of bed just before six. After ablutions, I pack. My three bottles of pisco fit in fine.

I check out before going for breakfast. Our taxi is due at seven. I have to wait around for a while anyway, because it isn’t yet 6:30, when breakfast service begins.

Karsten turns up soon after me. It’s a good start to the day as they have bacon again. I eat it with some scrambled egg.

A breakfast of bacon, scrambled egg,coffee and mango juice.

Andreas arrives. It’s him I’m sharing a taxi with. As he’s on the same flight to Amsterdam as me. And he’s promised not to break my arm. I make all my travelling companions sign a lengthy waiver. As anyone sensible would do.

Our taxi arrives on the dot. And is soon whisking us along surprisingly deserted roads. Then I remember that it’s Sunday. Easy to lose track when you’re away.

The formalities quickly completed, we make our way to the Skyteam lounge. And again, the bastards won’t let me in. Luckily, Andreas has platinum status and I can get in as his guest.

Santaigo airport lounge with an airliner in the background.

Not that I get much. Just a couple of coffees, orange juice and a bottle of water for the plane.

Boarding is fairly painless and quick. Before long we’re making the short hop to Buenos Aires.

We’re given a pastry item. Not sure what the filling was. I get a red wine to go with it. I eat maybe a third. I finish the red wine, though.

We’re at gate 19 in Buenos Aires. Giving us quite a walk to security, And then back again. As we have some time before we can reboard, Me and Andreas drop by a bar right next to our gate. A Quillmes and an empanada for Andreas, a Reserva San Juan, for me.

A glass of Reserva San Juan.

It seems to be some sort of brandy. The measure is very decent. And just $7,500. However much that is. It’s not bad. I get myself a couple more. It’s a long flight, after all.

Back on the plane, he people sitting around me are all completely different from the first leg. How odd.

I get a chicken meal which isn’t too horrible. Along with another red wine.

I watch some stuff. It’s Florida, man, The Menu, Family Guy, What we do in the Shadows, and some shitty romcom Sweethearts was it?

And Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Which is complete bollocks. I don’t quite catch how it ends as I drop off. It’s that gripping.

I don’t sleep all that well. I can’t really get comfortable. I do manage to doze a bit, though.

After the lights come back up, we’re served some food. No idea what it is. At first, I think some sort of omelette. But the few bits I can carve off it are sweet. It’s like trying to cut a rubber tyre with a plastic fork. I decide it’s not worth the effort of eating. There’s a fresh fruit salad, which is OK.

We arrive at gate E03. Yippee! Not too much walking. At first, they said we’d be picked up by bus.

There’s quite a queue at passport control. But none at all at the machines. I’m through without a wait. That comes at the carousel. Where I hang around for 20 minutes or so waiting for my bag.

The taxi ride isn’t the quickest as traffic is quite bad on the motorway.

As always, Dolores has a cup of tea waiting for me.

 

 

Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.

 

Festival!

With no early start, I lie in until 8. I have a shower and troll downstairs at about 8:45. Uwe and Andreas are there. Martyn comes down a few minutes later. And then Sandy.

No bacon today. Damn. I was looking forward to that. Those sliced up sausages really don’t do it for me. It's back to scrambled egg and cheese. Followed by fruit.

A breakfast of mixed fresh fruit, orange juice and coffee.

After breakfast I write up yesterday back in my room. And have a little pisco and coke eye opener.

We meet in the lobby at 10:30 for our little excursion to Ergo, Daniel’s brewery. Well, cellar, really. There’s rather more of us than originally anticipated. We have to get an extra capacity Uber to squeeze everyone in.

The cellar is housed in part of a former furniture factory. Down a fairly dodgy-looking industrial street. The factory has seen better days. Though perhaps not that better. The concrete looks pretty shoddy, in parts.

There’s a steep narrow staircase down to the cellar.

“Are you OK with that?” Daniel asks. “You could use the lift.”

“It’s OK. I live in Amsterdam. I’ve seen worse.” And the lift looks even more rickety. I’ll take my chances with the stairs.

It’s a fairly compact space. With barrels, bottles and cans crammed into most of the available room.

Wooden barrels in the Ergo cellar.

For several hours, Daniel plies us with samples of all sorts of barrel-aged stuff. Starting with cider and perry. Some his own, some from a producer further south. All really good. One batch was made with apples from a single tree.

We try lots of Daniels own concoctions. Barrel-aged beers with all sorts of things in them. Quite adventurous. And mostly pretty good.

The toilets are, er, interesting.

“Do you remember that scene in Trainspotting?” Daniel asks.

I do. They aren’t quite that bad. But are still pretty grim.

The rather dodgy toilets at Ergo.

We eventually drag ourselves away. Getting a couple of Ubers to transport us to the beer festival. Which is outdoors, in a park. And very nice it is, too.

Gran Festival Cervercero Independiente, or the Great Chilean Beer Festival, is, as the name implies, a festival for independent Chilean breweries. Though nothing like all of them.

A section of the park has been fenced off. Inside are four dozen or so brewery stands. Along with ones for food and other stuff. It’s all very relaxed. Oh, I almost forgot, you have the Andes in the background.

Lots of families are present. Once again, I’m struck by the youth of the beer crowd in South America. Unlike in most of Europe and the USA. Where many of those into beer are over 50. It’s a sign that the scene is much newer here.

The Mowa brewery stand at the beer festival.

We wander a bit around the brewer stands, getting the odd sample. And food. It’s after 4 PM and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Other than a few crisps at Daniel’s.

I get a prawn handroll. Which is a long tube of rice with a filling, wrapped in breadcrumbs and deep fried. It’s very filling. Which is just what I need right now.

Prawn handroll on a table.

I recognise that smell. You get it a lot in Amsterdam. Weed. It’s not just beer that’s being consumed.

We’re headed for the stage. Where the competition medals will be awarded. Chris wants us all there by 5 PM.

Currently, there’s a blues band on stage. Look at that. The fucker’s playing a 5-string bass. Work of the devil, those things.

I wander off to get a refill. And notice the Klein stand. A brewery in Temuco, which I visited last September. The young woman serving recognises me and signals for me to come over. And gives me a beer. Which is nice of her.

The band is still banging away come the awards time of 17:30. Who knows when it will start now. Understanding how long this going to take, I sit on an equipment box at the side of the stage. After a while, Daniella, one of the stewards at the contest, brings over a folding chair for me. Which is nice of her. That’s much better.

Eventually the band fucks off and awards are given. The winners get very excited. As they are fully entitled to. But it all goes on a very long time. Chris looks exhausted when it ends.

He offers to give Sandy and me a lift back to the hotel.

“Let’s go now.” He says. Then gets distracted multiple times. It’s almost an hour later, at well after 20:30, when we emerge from the park. By which time I’m starting to be in the need for a wee.

It’s getting quite late when we’re back at the hotel.

“One last nightcap, Ron?” Chris asks.

“OK, twist my arm, then. Just let go and have a piss first.”

A few judges gradually drift into the hotel bar Pisco sours are ordered, including one for me.

Martyn's vintage beers, two glasses of Royal Wedding Ale and a pisco sour.

Martyn brings down the bottles which were intended for a vintage beer tasting. I brought over bottles, too. We just never seemed to have time to do it. A bottle of Royal Wedding beer is opened.

“That’s not as dreadful as I feared. It’s actually quite drinkable.” Martyn remarks.

I don’t linger over my pisco sour. I need to be up at 6 AM. Luckily the clocks are changing overnight. Going back an hour. Giving me an extra hour of kip.




Gran Festival Cervercero Independiente
Parque Padre Hurtado,
Avda. Francisco de Bilbao 8105,
La Reina,
Santiago.



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.
 

Mountains again

It's another very early start. I'm up at 6:45. I love getting up early so much. So much I’m going to carry on rising before 7 AM every day when I return home.

It's the usual drill at breakfast Scrambled egg and bacon, with a pudding of fruit.

A breakfast of scrambled egg, bacon, orange juice and coffee.

The bus is due to leave at 7:30. Amazingly, it leaves at 7:40. Unbelievable.

Traffic is really bad. It takes forever to get outside Santiago. As we're crawling along Andreas notices a billboard advertising a Shakira concert.

"We should go." he says. He checks if there are still tickets. Amazingly, there are. He books tickets for himself, Richard and Uwe.

We take a different route today. Which goes through some dodgy-looking residential areas. Where dogs roam and there’s a shack-like shop on every corner. It takes even longer than yesterday. A full two hours. I’m well in need of a piss when we pull into the car park of Tübinger

After a comfort stop, I grab myself a coffee and some juice and get ready for the first talk.

Karsten Zufall gives a very technical talk about keeping yeast viable when you're not brewing. It's in Spanish, but I can work out maybe 75% of it. Way more than I understood of the Spanish native speakers. Interesting that.

Did I ever mention my love of languages? Beer isn’t the only obsession I’ve ever had. I’ve a bit more fucking depth than that. A good bit of the 1980s and 1990s, I spent studying languages. In my own particular way. The novel and dictionary method. The linguistic equivalent of learning how to swim by being thrown in at the deep end.

I had a couple of goes at Spanish. For some reason, it never stuck. Well, not enough of it. I can still understand a fair bit when it’s written or people speak slowly. It’s not like I’m in Budapest.

Richard talks about oxidation and how to avoid it. Also very technical. But at least it’s in English. He’s very passionate on the topic. I hope the brewers in the audience are paying attention. Oxidation is the most common fault I come across when judging in South America.

Ben Wood (left) and Matynn Cornell (right) on stage for "A History of Porter and Stout in South America"

I'm presenting with Martyn. He kicks off with a discussion of Porter and Stout history in general and in South America in particular. It’s as erudite as you would expect from the absolute expert on the topic. I learn loads. Hope I can remember some of it.

I come in at the end with seven London Porter recipes from different periods. Followed by two Irish and one Scottish. Obviously, I can’t restrain myself from talking way too much. There’s just so much to say about 19th-century Porter grists.

We go outside for lunch. The sun shines. Though the mountains are hazy today, they’re still there. I have a Hoppy Helles in front of me. And no commitments over the next few days other than to having a good time.

Gabi sits next to me and I finally hand over the copy of Vintage Beer I brought out for her.

Sweetcorn mush with a lump of meat.

The food is pretty good: ground sweetcorn with a lump of beef. We’ve been eating well so far. Maybe a little too much pizza. At least it’s been decent pizza.

We leave, on schedule, at 4 PM. Heading for the brewpub Cervecería Intrinsical. It doesn’t take quite as long as the outward journey. Probably because we’re on the motorway for longer.

I recognise where we are as we approach our destination. It’s just around the corner from where I stayed with the kids last July. This is weirdly nostalgic.

We sit upstairs. I didn’t realise they had an upstairs.

“It’s much warmer than last time I was here.” I remark.

“When was that?”

"Last July. It was so cold everyone was wearing their overcoats. Inside."

The price list upstairs in brewpub Intrinsical.

For my free beer, I get a West Coast IPA. It's OK. But I'm after something a little stronger.

"Could I have a gin and tonic?"

"I'm sorry, I can't serve you that.”

What the fuck?

“I've no tonic. Will ginger beer do instead?"

Phew.  "That's fine.'

It comes with rather too much ice. Which I fish out. When I order a second, I ask for just one cube.

After that Sandy, me and Karsten get an Uber back to the hotel. None of us feel like staying up much later.

Other than quickly nipping to Lider for a little food and drink, I do bugger all for the rest of the evening. Just watching Youtube and drinking some cheapo pisco. I turn in about 10:30.



Cervecería Intrinsical
Av. Brasil 88,
8340554 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
https://www.intrinsical.cl/



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.