One for the Road: Stout of Sight

Revelation. Epiphany. Enlightenment. Perspective. Realisation. Self-discovery. If the inspirational travel quotes that lately I have been bombarded with are to be trusted, these are the only destinations at which any worthy wanderer should hope to arrive.

Travel, according to the received wisdom of people who braid their beards, and wear flip flops in winter, is as much about the inner journey as it is the outer. Yes, it is a physical act, but so too is it a psychic – or, dare I even say it, spiritual – one.

Well, even though I have been away almost an entire fortnight, I cannot yet claim that my peregrinations have led me to the centre of my soul. No new set of priorities has been revealed. No secret self has been uncloaked. I am, as far as I can tell, completely unchanged, except in one important way: I am now a Chang man.

From the age of about 19, I have been, until very recently, a devoted stout drinker. Where some men are faithful to the black beauty through the winter months, only to abandon her for some fairer maiden when the sun comes out, my commitment to the dark damsel has never been contingent on something as fickle as the weather.

Rain or shine, I drank cheap pints, expensive pints, warm pints, creamy pints, watery pints, unsettled pints, yellow-headed pints, other people’s pints; every possible variation of pint you could conceive of. And, what’s more, I put them all away without complaint.

Over the last nine years, I would say I have swallowed an average of about ten pints of stout per week. (Yes, your presentiments are correct, I am about to do the maths that no man should ever do).

Ten pints of stout per week, across 52 weeks, comes to 520 pints per year, which means I have drank around 4,680 pints of stout in my lifetime. If I paid an average of £4 per pint, which is probably a conservative enough estimate, that means I have spent about £18,720 in pursuit of the many gifts of Guinness.

And do I regret it? All the craic, carry on, conviviality and commotion? To that I say, wise up. To deign to answer such a question would be an insult to you, to myself and to the human spirit itself.

But the wellspring of stout that blesses Ireland does not find an equal outlet in the taps of Thailand. Guinness can be sourced, but with some difficulty and at considerable expense.

Consequently, I am in the first flushes of a love affair with a local beer called Chang – a lively lager that, like all the best drinks, seems so eloquently to express the environment in which it is enjoyed. It is sun and sand; a glass of liquid gold.

But, Guinness, if you are reading this, peering through the glass that so perfectly lends you your irresistibly voluptuous form, know that, no matter how far I wander and whatever exotic elixirs pass my lips, you will always be in my heart.

Revelation. Epiphany. Enlightenment.
Perspective.
Realisation. Self-discovery.
Add to that list, people who come up with the inspirational travel quotes, remembering what you love.

If you are taking a pint of black this week, have an extra one for me.