Microbrewed Adventures - Charles Papazian [96]
To make a long, sad story short, Swakapmund is a desert oasis for Germans and Namibians. The owners of the Last Western Pub had the beer lover’s dream—“let’s brew our own beer.” Their aspirations were noble, but like so many others in undeveloped microbrewery countries, they have been royally ripped off. They spent $40,000 on one of the worst pieces of equipment I’ve ever seen in all my born-again days as a brewer. I could have done better with $1,000. Needless to say, they were searching for solutions, having shut down the brewery for lack of anything that tasted like beer. “We just want to make three or four barrels of beer a week—quality beer—and we’re prepared to find a solution.” I told them part of the solution was to scrap most of the system they had. It was worthless as an asset.
And to their credit, not only were they selling the super-quality local beer made by Windhoek, but as well a selection of more than 50 great beers from Europe, and I was drinking it—free. I thought to myself, two hours ago I was heading back to my hotel depressed, discouraged and thirsty. Now I was being asked if I knew of any homebrewers who might wish to spend six months, all expenses paid, to fix their brewery to make three hectoliters a week. Their biggest asset was Swakapmund’s one and only license (other than that owned by the Windhoek Brewing Company) to brew and sell beer. And if that was not enough, they were on good terms with the Windhoek Brewing Company and allowed to buy ingredients from the brewery. I told them their goal was not unreasonable and soon departed, binged and light headed.
Before I left, my eyes glanced up at a sign in back of the bar. It said, “Remember when they said sex was safe and flying was dangerous.” This was the motto and business card of Rui, the person I had jumped off a mountain paragliding with in Rio de Janeiro only four weeks earlier. It is truly an amazing, serendipitous world.
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SWAKAPMUND COWBOY LAGER
This German-style pilsener has the spiciness and floral character of Hallertauer and Santiam hops and helps me recall the fresh, invigorating aroma of the cold Antarctic Benguela sea current. It’s a crisp, full-flavored, refreshing pils. The recipe can be found in About the Recipes.
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What goes around keeps going around and comes around again and again. Remember this. Always. Sometimes I don’t remember, but it comes around anyway. They say the fog rolls in here in the morning. In the morning I would be heading east across the desert.
CHAPTER 12
Expecting the Unexpected: Russia, Asia, Fiji and Grenada
MANY OF MY adventures are an ongoing regionalized collection of experiences with a common theme. Then there are other adventures that just happen. Time and place, reason and cadence are neither logical nor consistent. That is often the nature of having microbrewed adventures: you simply happen to encounter them with no reason for a beginning nor hint at finality. Russia, Asia and Fiji happened to happen…
AS DID Grenada in April 1994. I was among twelve intrepid beer enthusiasts who’d checked their day’s luggage at the airport on the small Caribbean island of Grenada. Amongst our belongings was a five-gallon keg of homemade American pale ale. Our enthusiasm and the morning were leading us to a day of sailing and camaraderie in the Grenadine Islands. But there was one problem.
We had forgotten to consider that Grenada was one country and we were entering another. Unfortunately, St. Vincent customs would not allow our keg into their country. We even promised to buy at least six cases of their beer! They smiled and assured us that they’d take good care of our beer so that we could return with it to Grenada. But then there was another problem we discovered later.
Having legitimately cleared Grenada customs with our beers earlier in the week, we were to find another shift on duty upon our return from St. Vincent. Sadly, the opportunity to enjoy our last