Everyone's Eliot: A Milliner's Tale

 For a moment, Patricia Pentecost and I sit silent among the sounds of a distant drum beat, slurpy spaghetti, and murmuring. It’s Sunday and the first time Patricia (Trish) and I have sat down together during the entirety of the Port Eliot Festival, where Trish’s Just Seven hats are nearly sold out. Yet as Trish shares her favorite food with me (a freshly-sourced clam spaghetti from Pastaworks), we don’t have the “tired-to-the-point-of-hating-people” fatigue that is sometimes a result of nonstop “sales.” In fact, as we watch the Just Seven tent from smooth, honey-color wooden chairs a potential customer meanders up. I can imagine the perfect hat for her sun-bleached hair and want badly to help her place it on her head. Trish looks at the woman, too, and I think she feels the same. Instead, we sit back to allow Trish’s niece to assist the customer, knowing that the right hat always finds the most adoring head. Kind of like the Sorting Hat in Harry Potter. This is Port Eliot, after all.

I have been helping Trish in her Just Seven booth at Port Eliot Festival since Thursday, although she arrived on Wednesday to start setting up and won’t leave until Monday, after the Festival closing tonight. In case you haven’t been following along, THIS PART of my “Everyone’s Eliot” series explains how I came to spend days under the Cornish sky and butterfly-crested tent. As someone who’s worked events from cycle shows to vintage fayres, I am surprised at how easy and enjoyable the Just Seven Port Eliot has been. I think a lot of it has to do with the milliner and her superb product.

Typically Dutch, Trish is mum about the more difficult parts of her personal history until we’ve spent a few days together (and are under the spell of garlicy clams). “I never knew my father when he wasn’t sick,” she said, telling me about years growing up as a lower middle-class horse-riding girl in Holland. “I always wanted a pony. What little girl doesn’t? We could never afford one so I borrowed horses. When I moved to the UK I finally bought my own. She was such a lovely horse and we did very well together, show-jumping as a hobby. Then, the horse suffered a traumatic injury. I had to put her down. My Dad saw it all, and he bought me my first pony when I was 30 years old!” A young girls’ giggles spill from her mouth. I am so curious about this warm-yet-stoic attitude, a persona reflected within the dramatic folds, giddy adornments, and impeccable rendering of Just Seven pieces.

Every hat is one-of-a-kind, imagined by Trish and formed in an intensive process that she has practiced to utmost perfection (the Dutch are famous for being intelligent tradesmen, after all). She hand makes all of her women’s hats, from apt and colourful waterproof British caps to whimsical, high-billed, feather-tipped creations fit for Queens and witches. “The more expensive and high-quality fabric the easier it is to stretch and mould,” she describes. “First, I put a chemical on the fabric. Then I steam the fabric as I lay it on the blocks and form it. This can take anywhere from ten minutes to an hour.” I imagine that the hats folding over themselves again and again, with no start and no finish, must take the longest. “Finally, I let the hat dry for 24 hours.” This knowledge of how much and what kind of chemical to use is of the reasons Trish’s hats are so smart: Despite the fact that they’re peaked and pointed, the hats can be smooshed without losing shape. As an immigrant, Trish knows what it’s like to travel often. I think it’s also the reason one woman gladly buys two of Trish’s most theatrical pieces, secure in the knowledge that she can get them home in her camping bags. Or, maybe it’s the price (a hat that would sell for £130 in London is £55 in Plymouth and southwest England, even at privileged events like Port Eliot). Or, maybe it’s because Trish humbly talks about ponies for an hour with the avid racer. It is Port Eliot, after all.

Leaning casually in our seats, an empty compostable bowl in front of us, Trish and I observe the wandering crowd. “I love people watching,” she says. “There’s always interesting people everywhere, right? Everyone is interesting in a way. There’s a guy there with a shopping trolley – that’s interesting in itself!” she lightly laughs. “It’s interesting how people go about their business. Look at that guy pushing his kid in a makeshift wagon. I mean, why not just use a pram?” She notes these things in her very Trish way, non-judgmentally and amused. It is an off-hand delight expressed in her company brand, Just Seven. “I don’t know why, but everything in my life always involves the number seven. If they hadn’t been induced my sons would have been born on the 7th of the month. When I was house-hunting, I refused viewings for a house in Plymouth [UK] despite my realtor’s insistence. But when I finally saw how perfect it was and noticed the number was seven I just knew it was right.” This house now serves as her perfect studio and family abode. As she continues, listing seven after seven, I muse on her cool professionalism. Where an American like me would apply such synchronicity to the extreme, naming my company Always Seven or Completely Seven or Like, Totally Seven, the Dutch-English Trish coyly chooses Just.

Watching one of her vintage bowler caps walk by underneath a sign displaying “Free Hugs,” I think she might be doing herself a disservice (the sign-bearer thought a classy hat like Trish’s might bode better with potential customers than the leopard-print, goggle-adorned helmet he showed up in). Trish’s hats aren’t “just” hats. She touches up even those that are not her own creations, like the vintage men’s caps, in a feat of millinery. She uses the same mold-steam-spray-set technique so that the hats shine nearly as brightly as their original incarnation. They’re the highest-quality vintage men’s caps at the festival and yet the lowest priced. Trish can afford to price them low because she’s so efficient at reworking them. No wonder they sell like frogs in a wizard’s market.

By now we’re totally relaxed, wiggling our pinkies to the drifting music. I discover one reason Trish chose to move from Holland to the UK: “British music is the best. Aren’t all the best musicians British? Right going back to Queen. Queen is my favourite.” I peer at Trish in her uncharacteristically flamboyant tulle skirt with butterflies (donned for Port Eliot’s eyes only) and touch my own Just Seven trilby, billed in white lace and a bejewelled feather, remarking, “I can’t see one of your hats at a Queen show…” At this Trish chuckles. “Well, there aren’t many Freddie Mercuries running around anymore!”

But there is Jimi Galvin, bassist of Mad Dog Mcrea, Trish’s second-favorite band after Queen and a local treasure. Just before one their Port Eliot set, Jimi moseyed into the Just Seven tent, unrecognized by Trish. As they conversed about Trish’s pieces, he commented how high-quality they were. Trish responded jovially, “They’re sure better than that one on your head!” Jimi chortled, “I’ve worn this hat on every gig for eight years!” Trish visibly struggled to contain her excitement when Jimi revealed his true identity. He left the tent with his old hat in his rucksack, walking directly to his Port Eliot stage in a shiny Just Seven. Later that evening Trish watched the show from the audience, glowing with pride.

Slowly, we pull ourselves from the chairs, disposing our rubbish in the bin (Trish might be British, but she’ll always have a Dutch care for cleanliness and order). In the Just Seven tent we find a father and son, returned a second time to try on an idiosyncratic blue felt wonderment. The hat is perfect for his job as a wedding poet. He spins the hat around, loving the fact that it has no front or back. “It’s like ten hats in one!” he remarks. The father eventually purchases his hat, a special present to himself at this fifth of his Port Eliot Festival attendances. Trish smiles serenely as he walks away. “The hats just sell themselves,” she titters. “He looks wonderful.”

Babes

 Dear reader, let’s play a game. I’m going to say a word. Now you think of a few related words that capture the essence of that word in your mind. Ready?

Beer.

BASEDtraveler.

Babes.

After the success of my series, “Real Ale University” and my burgeoning friendship with Plymothians of the shorter, jollier, chemistry-whizzier beer brewing scene, I’m slowly integrating in Plymouth’s CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale, a nationally recognized membership-based drinking club). The local chairman loves so much the ideas of connecting international citizens and women with the beer scene that he invited me to host a booth to sell my Plymouth Primer there. Cursed with infallible energy and idealism, spurned by the nature of my Pilgrim upbringing, I took his offer a step further. “Why don’t I do a ‘Beer for Babes’ booth!” I shouted [chug]. “That’s a great idea!” he replied [chug]. The plan was set. Simple as that. Cheque, please.

Yep, dear expat-locals, that was a foreshadow. Later, after the debacle I will next describe ensued, the CAMRA chairman did admit that he “chuckled a little” about the drama I brought upon myself. I haven’t laughed yet, but at least I can write about it.

After deciding my Beer Festival theme, I posted this message to what I thought was a local CAMRA group:

My company, BASEDtraveler, is hosting a booth at the Plymouth Beer Festival taking place at the Plymouth Pavilions on 10 and 11 July. We call it "Beer for Babes," a women's-only tasting table. We will have a selection of food and beer available for ladies to come try and discuss. I find that women are reluctant to try beer because it feels like a "man's-only" space. We're going to break down that barrier, one sip at a time!

I need knowledgeable women and men to help me run the booth. They will offer samples, invite women to take a seat, manage the supply of food, and work directly beside me (I am also selling my book at the event). If you're passionate about beer and want to help ladies become so, too, then please direct message or email me at emily@BASEDtraveler.com

Thanks!

Do you remember Hurricane Ivan? Within seconds, then minutes, then hours, members of CAMRA from across the nation rained knowledge upon me. Through a slew of comments and responses, they debated the level of sexism portrayed in my idea, how it might relate to other racism and stereotypes, the use of the term “babe,” the BASEDtraveler brand, and my personal respectability (zilch). When I thanked them for encouraging discussion around the topic, they “LOL’d” in my face. Here’s some of my favorite replies:

Hint, calling something "Beer for Babes" is one more reason women feel like beer is a men's only space. *cough* fuckwit.

Are you also hosting an auction where you can buy wives in exchange for camels? That's the kind of primitive shit you're promoting.

The name is definitely the main problem - closely followed by the condescending tone.

What was more confusing is that the diatribe was riddled with British colloquialisms. I knew I was being insulted, but couldn’t quite figure out how…

I’m sorry but this is ridiculous you’ve missed April first by a fair margin! (I know! The Beer Festival is scheduled for July…?!)

My first response, relatively early in the conversation, was to thank them for encouraging discussion. Surely this was just a few people who had too much time on their hands; the Spice Girls’ manager was going to chime in soon, no? Here’s the response I got for my initial expression of gratitude:

It's a bit sad when people are blatantly this opportunistic. Amazing that having people call you an idiot is now regarded as an encouraging discussion. Who wants to bet someone lost friends in high school for trying to sell them all Amway? (What’s Amway?!)

I don't even get who you are or why you want to be organisation a beer tasting considering your business is a life style business, very unusual - I'd be interested to know what beers you would be sampling maybe something like Batemans? :https://www.facebook.com/Basedtraveler?pnref=lhc (What’s Bateman’s?!)

Then respondents started sharing my status on other people’s pages, inciting more angst among their friends. When I returned to my phone a few hours later, I was baffled, and a little teary-eyed. It was two hours since my first post and I had been called multiple times to defend myself. I apologized for the delay in my response, explaining that I was meeting with members of Plymouth City Council. I then detailed that “babes” is in my American vernacular, much like “rad” and “awesome.” I and other BASEDtravelers have found communities in beer culture across borders; we love groups like Barley’s Angels and CAMRA. I linked back to my Real Ale University story as “where it all started” and apologized sincerely for my misstep. I was baffled and humbled and grateful for their insights. Obviously, the issue was in the word “babes.” Could they help me come up with a new name?

The eye of the storm revealed itself—for a moment:

As a female brewer, as well as drinker, happy to help in any way I can.

That's the one Emily - Thanks for taking the time out to let us understand more fully what you were offering. I think to be fair to yourself that explanation is great and gives us an understanding of what you were getting at - so in way of thanks for the explanation and understanding - I'd like to offer any help I can!

I am part of London Beer Ladies and again it's not discriminating against men, it's just encouraging to ladies…(12:49PM)

We have tried various themes along the "diversity" theme in Nottingham CAMRA, including sessions where one of the big bars is staffed by women only in an attempt to encourage female drinkers to engage & discuss where they may be a bit "reticent" with some of the more "typical" male bar staff. I'm all for trying to breakdown barriers (real or imaginary!), be more inclusive and most of all have some fun. 

Except I was still confused by some replies. Was that British sarcasm?: You go babe.

Then, as members of the group started the homeward journeys, curiously logging in to their cell phones on their daily commute, the wolf pack reared its ugly head again.

Base = amphetamine. Based = off your face on the aforementioned drug. So they are effectively saying "drugged up travellers."

I watched in horror. Here was my business, my baby, my character, and my cute idea, damned damned damned. Was I seriously so wrong? So out of tune with British culture? This beer festival thing was just a fun excuse to drink beer with chicks! Why can’t women be “babes?” Gosh…now I don’t even know what babes means!

What was one do when they don’t know the answer? Phone a friend. Well, a few friends, all Plymothian. They elucidated the situation:

1) The national CAMRA page is much less forgiving than the local page. It’s a testament to the laid-back and willing nature of Devon, Plymouth’s south western country. My housemate said, “It’s just unfortunate it went national. I think you wouldn’t have gotten the same reaction if it was local. They weren’t intending to be helpful. If it was someone from the area who could have actually helped you things might have been different.”

2) “Babes” is not a bad term although it wasn’t used as frequently in the UK as it is in the States. “It makes me think of Baywatch,” my friend said.

3) The idea is still a good one, but changing the name would probably make me and other Brits feel more comfortable.

When talking to my friends and colleagues about big decisions in personal and professional life, I often tell them to consider, “What’s the worst that can happen?” Well, folks, here you have it—this post is probably the worst thing that could have happened to my idea, my psyche, and (momentarily) my company. Attempting Gandhi-like poise I tried my best to turn the situation around. Whether or not that attempt was successful is up for debate. Two new friends who noticed the post reached out to me directly in personal messages, offering good ideas. On the other hand, I did manage to personally infuriate one of the most well-known brewesters (female beer brewer) in London in such a message. Summarily, I’ve decided to rename my table “BASEDtraveler’s Beer & Bites for Beginners.”

Somehow, I’m not too upset by this incident. Maybe it’s my expat-local resiliency. Maybe it’s my ignorance. Maybe I’m accustomed to making a fool of myself. And maybe it’s my love for a good story. I actually feel a little like Buzz, the toddler in the video below. Who knew that one little action could cause such a surprisingly delightful fallout? 

Au Revoir: Visit Roscoff the Right Way

Overview: A fantastic benefit to living in Plymouth is its location as a Brittany Ferry port, offering cruises by car or foot to the spa-and-tourism hovel of Roscoff, France. I visited Roscoff for +/-24 hours on my way further into the country. Making my journey at the end of March, I assumed an afternoon and large part of the next day provided ample time to explore the little port town.

Over the course of a Friday night and Saturday day I learned that:
1) Roscoff is an ideal staycation for Plymothians (especially those with spare euro), backpackers on their way into France, and as a lay-over if to road trip further into Europe…
2) IF one travels at any time other than a Friday evening and Saturday day between October and April.

Why? First of all, a windy, sweeping, chilly rain fell almost incessantly during my visit. My sweet server at Ti Saozon (details below) explained in broken English, “This is the north.” I marvelled that only six hours ago I was across the English Channel in “the south,” i.e. sunny Plymouth.

Secondly, France closes during the following times: Saturday afternoons, Sundays, Mondays, mornings, and the months of October-April. Most hotels, museums, visitor centres, and shops shutter doors or seriously reduce hours during those months.

Learn from my mistakes. To help you, my fair readers, I’ve spent more time researching Roscoff upon return than I did before I left. It is not an easy city to trip research, especially in Google-translated English. Information on hours, openings, schedules, and activities is spread across many websites or simply missing. The Roscoff tourism page (linked below) claims that it is “less affected by seasonal change” than other French destinations, which shocks me…Do other destinations disappear completely in low-season?

Expected Duration: Ensure a visit occurs on a weekday that is NOT a Monday. I.e., take the ferry overnight on Thursday evening and return in the afternoon on a Sunday. Or, take any of the 8AM morning ferries to arrive around 3PM.

Expected Costs:

Transit- Basic ferry fees are £35/ person on foot in daytime with no cabin. For two people and a vehicle, the cost is around £130.  Additional costs include overnight trips, cabin rental, and meal deals.

Accommodation- The cheapest Roscoff hotels are around 30€/ night. Learn from my mistakes: Spend more. Rent a nicer hotel room in or within walking distance of the city centre. They run from 70€-120€/ night. While exploring I found what I think is a campground on an onion farm. I am unsure of the cost or viability; links provided under “Resources” below.

Ferry to Ile de Batz- 8.5€

Food- I didn’t find it very easy to get good deals on food in Roscoff. There was little variation in menu prices. The place to save is drink, which you will do frequently. Order the local cider for 3€ per glass (versus wine for upwards of 7€). Purchase bottles of cider for 3.50€ from the grocers in the centre ville instead of the tourist attraction shops, where they run from 7€+. I found an awesome bar outside the train station (Le Sailor) where wine was .90€. The water in this bar was 2.70€. One can guess my drink of choice. There are more details on ferry food in “The Plan” below. I found a tourism pamphlet in Brest that claimed a Wednesday Farmer’s Market, perfect for cheaper picnic picks, but I am not sure if it runs in low-season.

Money exchange- Birttany Ferries offer a service at port and for a fee. Instead, exchange £ to € at the post office in Plymouth for free. I also used my British debit card to pull money from French ATM’s for a standard service charge. Cards are accepted most everywhere I visited in the region.

Optional costs include the onion museum tour, renting bicycles, and water sports.

Solo-Savvy: Yes, but more so in the high-season. Ask yourself: Do I feel more relaxed when traveling alone? During high season you will find plenty English-speaking travelers to chat with and ample activities. Conversely, I recommend bringing a friend if visiting in the low-season. I received funny looks when dining alone for dinner (of course, I smiled coyly and provided funny looks right back). Find a tag-along who speaks French. Bretagne/ Brittany is notorious for its lack of English speakers.

Requirements: In low-season, one MUST bring water-resistant clothing. I found cool sailor-style jackets in Roscoff for a steep fee. Outdoor walking shoes are helpful especially if exploring the Isle of Batz. Bring a swimsuit and towel. Sport-specific gear can be rented from the water sports centre on the harbor.

A Background on Roscoff and the Bretagne (Brittany) region:

Roscoff is located in the “department” of Finistère, northwestern Brittany. It has 1,000 kilometers of coastline. The French term for Brittany is Bretange and these terms are used interchangeably. The popular term for Brittany as “Little Britain” is a misnomer. Yes, many of the homes in the region are owned by Brits (especially along coastal spots like Roscoff). However, a surprising number of people here do not speak English. There exists a regional dialect and plenty of French colloquialisms. It’s a heavenly place for those interested in architecture and churches. Over the 16th and 18th centuries towns competed to build the most elaborate churches, churchyards, and religious sculptures. They built enclos pariossiaux, which mostly consist of a triumphal entrance, stone cross, ossuary (bone container), a church, and a walled courtyard. The little church in Roscoff city centre is a perfect example. Unfortunately, most churches I visited shut their interiors to the public (maybe because of the beggars sitting inside the entrance).

The Port of Roscoff is called Port de Bloscon, situated about a 10-minutes’ walk eastward of the town centre. It was originally formed to transport produce between the UK and France. Eventually, it expanded to promote British tourism to the north of France. I wonder if so few people here speak English because such promotion only took off in the 1980’s.

Roscoff is recognized for a few things outside its tour-worthy characteristics. It’s a popular seawater therapy location (the first started in 1899). According to a tourism site, it is “believed to be a place where [people] recuperate well…the combined use of seawater, seaweed, and fresh sea air of our region have proved to be extremely beneficial.” Today, such therapies translate to thalassotherapy (Wikilink below), a type of spa and massage. Several bright and modern medical facilities are located in Roscoff, too. Foodies love Roscoff’s onions, featured in many of its crepe recipes and the Roscoff seafood soup. Finally, a yummy local cider blends bubbles, sweet, and crisp flavor.

The Plan:
Brittany Ferries
Brittany Ferries asserts a 45-minute pre-arrival window. I was chastised by “Geraldine” for arriving only 30 minutes early. Show your passport twice upon arrival and send your bags through security. In Plymouth, you must walk through a metal detector, too. Once loaded onto the ferry, choose a campground: The front of the boat affords big windows and relative quiet outside meal-times but does seem to rock more than the middle. There is a mad-rush for breakfast. BEWARE: I watched many travelers attempt to use their meal deal tickets while still in port only to be told the ticket applies when in-motion. Food on the ferries is expensive: Soup runs at £3.50, the salad bar is £6-something, and the most popular option, a full meal + alcohol + dessert, is around £14. However, I recommend eating on the Ferry. It’s tasty, healthy, and a boredom buster. Beverages can be purchased at the “self-serve restaurant” and an on-board bar. I guesstimate that 75% of travelers probably imbibed adult beverages. I, however, felt a little too queasy to do as much…

The ferry rocks. While two on-board stores host a worthy selection of souvenirs and travel items they are prohibited from selling seasickness medications (I bought an adapter for only £3.99). One of the stores sells ginger biscuits claiming seasickness reduction. I found eating helped to settle my stomach; the biscuits, priced at only £.99, may be worth a try. Another suitable seasickness distraction is the very well-priced cinema, where movies like The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel II are played at a super affordable £6.50. Maybe the lady who let her young boy vomit into a seasickness bag in the middle of a public eating space ought to have considered this option….or at least taken him out to the back deck for some fresh air!

What you absolutely will not be able to do on the ferry is access WiFi. After two hours of trying without success to log on and I gave up. I crawled up on a bench to sleep instead. In fact, I found myself feeling very groggy. I slept like a baby (or like I wished a screaming baby near me would). Rock-a-bye baby?

Final logistical notes regarding the ferry: Payments can be made in Euros or GBP; electrical sockets are French; staff are French but speak English.

Accommodation
The port is a simple 10-minute walk from the city centre. French signs are easy to interpret and list specific hotel names.

Learn from my mistakes: Many hotels in Roscoff are closed until April. The cheapest hotel I could find while there was Hotel Regina (linked below), which I highly recommend NOT staying at. Unless you like overpriced and cold rooms without kettles, clean linens, and working showers. When I appeared at the front desk wrapped in a blanket, the hotelier offered me a space-heater. I kept it on the entire time, figuring that because I was the only person in the hotel, I could use as much electricity as I wanted.

There are deals to be had in Roscoff. They do not result in cheap accommodation but heavily discounted or perk-included bookings. Places to look for such deals are the Brittany Ferries emails, TripAdvisor (there’s a link to TripAdvisor on the BASEDtraveler main page), and the Visit Roscoff website (below). I thought the Hotel-Restaurant d’Angleterre looked nice (when it opens in April). It may be tempting to book a space at Roscoff’s famous Hotel Thalasstonic. I popped in to check out the scene. It’s a clean and modern and a spa haven, full of British hen-do’s and elderly people. From my brief visit I don’t think it’s worth the cost, especially during winter when the private beach and outdoor hot-tub cannot be enjoyed. Do not purchase anything in the Hotel’s shop, as the same products are sold at city centre grocers for literally half the price.

Exploring
First and foremost, one must walk to the end of Roscoff’s bridge to the middle of the channel. You will see the bridge extending off the local harbor into the channel. It crosses most clear and turquoise water, where marine life mingles with seaweed and shells in low-level tide pools. The bridge eventually disappears beneath the surface. I believe the bridge previously took visitors all the way to the Ile de Batz, a small island a 15-minute now serve by an affordable ferry from Roscoff. Ferries to the Ile run at regular intervals throughout the year. Most people spend their day walking, although there is a restaurant, guest house, tourist information centre, and hosted events there. (Links below).

Here’s a list of other activities and attractions in Roscoff:
Tourist Information Office: This is the best place to stop to learn what’s available in the city during your visit. The building faces the harbor in the city centre.
Jardine Exotique: People on Google say, “Magnifique jardine.” A ten-minute walk from the city centre toward the ferries. Its website is broken but I found tour information on the Tourism Bretagne page.
Sante Barbe Chapel: Less than 30 minutes’ walk from the city centre, this petite place of worship offers gorgeous views.

Onions & Johnnie’s Museum: Somehow I didn’t notice this museum as I walked around town. Moreover, I can’t find specific details online, just a vague mention on the Bretagne Tourism website. I assume it’s still operational but really can’t be sure.

Thalasso: Yah, go for it--- get a Thalasso massage! During low-season only the Thalado Hotel offers them but in high-season other locations do as well. If you don’t want to go all-out, get a haircut instead. Two very cute and busy salons/ barber shops are within the city centre. When in Rome…

Take a stroll: Follow the well-marked tourism signs in English and French through the city and out past the medical centers. Look for them on walls on free-standing. You will pass a house Alexandre Dumás stayed in and Our Lady of Croaz Batz, the local enclos pariossiaux. Walk along the promenade, learning about the medicinal heritage of the city, and past a closed cemetery (which struck me as morbid considering it is right next to the hospital). Next to the Thalado Hotel is a perky creperie and beach. End your tour there or continue to walk into the neighborhoods and past the nautical research center.

Eat and Drink: Roscoff’s best all-weather attraction! Absolutely visit Ti Saozon, a delightful creperie owned by a fabulous husband/ wife duo. They have a life-size replica of the wife’s grandmother’s grandmother perched in the French chic café. Grandmother founded Ti Saozon and looks very determined indeed. Order a bottle of cider and the day’s special crepe (3.50 and 8 Euros respectively). Finish with a sweet dessert crepe (everyone does). The place was still busy when I arrived at 9PM. If possible, reserve one of their delicate, spindly tables.
Another must-visit is Café Ty Pierre, located directly on the harbor. Despite the fact that it’s always busy, the laid-back yet efficient service staff provided effective service to diners on the outdoor terrace (smoking allowed) and in the cozy, contemporary interior. With free WiFi, ample beverage options, and great people-watching, it’s a good place to spend a few hours. This is where I tasted Roscoff’s fish soup (soup di pouisson), which I expected to be something of a stew. To my surprise, it is a smooth and blended fish-and-tomato-base tasting soup, warm but lacking in sustenance. While people on TripAdvisor say it’s the “best fish soup in Roscoff,” I recommend ordering one of the more substantial menu items for lunch. 

Escape from Roscoff
Roscoff is an excellent stopping-off point to access other parts of France. The train station, located next to Hotel Regina, offers regular services into larger towns like Morlaix where further connections are available. Trains here are a regional service called Ter from stations called SNCF. The train to Roscoff was a funny, miniscule single coach. The station was much busier on a Monday afternoon than a Saturday afternoon so consider booking tickets in advance if using weekday transit. I paid 18€ for a train to Morlaix and a connection to Brest. Do note, as well, that on my return journey the train was undergoing construction. I was re-routed on a bus then two train connections. If on a schedule be sure to check with staff as early as possible.

Get this: I met many travelers in France of all backgrounds and characteristics who hitchhike around the country. I heard only positive things about the experience. One of my friends managed to scour the East-West completely in two days, a shocking feat. Keep it in mind…

Real Ale University Chapter 3: Pub Crawl for a Purpose

 The ubiquitous British pub crawl. A Wiki-search of the origination of the pub crawl results in plenty of modern information. But I’m still unsure of its heritage. When I surmise on the origination of Plymouth pub crawls I envision crowds of bawdy sailors cavorting dark Union Street haunts. For me today the pub crawl serves a final lesson in my quest to become a real ale connoisseur, courtesy of Norm at Summerskills Brewery.

Norm decides to start our pub crawl for a purpose at the Millbridge Inn, Stoke. When Norm and I arrive around noon it’s still quiet. Norm chooses this location because it is hosting a beer festival, carrying the Summerskills Ninja and Indian Bones. The bar staff greet Norm casually before attempting to uncork his “pin” (keg). They struggle. Finally, Norm grabs the pliers and pops the keg open himself. We are poured a pint (for Norm) and a half-pint (for me). There’s no way I’m trying to match a master today.

We slide into a corner booth with a view of the footy and passer-by. As neighborhood-rats slowly enter, Norm and I talk taste.  “The Ninja is so much hoppier than Devon Dew,” he begins (remember from Chapter 2 that Ninja is the only Summerskills brew to use international hops). “It’s more aromatic, with a strong aftertaste.”

Norm points to the other pin on the bar. “Millbridge will open Indiana Bones* next. Bones is a russet brown, sweet and hoppy but quite potent at 5.6% alcohol.” He talks more about Devon Dew, the “most drinkable” Summerkills offer. “Devon Dew is a malted wheat that uses Pilgrim English hops.  “We use a higher proportion of malted wheat to malted barley in Devon Dew than in the rest of our beers,” Norm details. “The properties of English hops are a result of the terroir (geography, geology and climate) and this also has a bearing on the strains of malting barleys grown in the UK. Malt gets its flavor from sunlight and soil. The UK gets less sunlight than other beer-producing nations like the USA, Australia, and New Zealand. In fact, real ale changes slightly when exposed to sun.” He holds his glass up to the warm light streaming through the puckered glass windows. “The changes are known commonly as ‘skunking’ because of the skunk-like aroma that results.”

As the noise in the pub grows, Norm and I decide to head to the next location. We exit the green and yellow building (all the Plymouth pubs under this company’s direction are painted green and yellow). He directs us across Victoria Park, which used to be an inland waterway called Stonehouse Creek. Norm enlivens the tour when he notes, “The sick men of the Royal Navy were brought from the Dockyard to the Royal Naval Hospital via Stonehouse Creek and this was the origin of the term ‘up the creek.’” We continue to cross Union Street at the Palace Theatre, sighing at its shabby exterior. “That would make a great brewery,” I state. “I wish,” Norm chortles.

Next we cruise past the Theatre Royal and up the Hoe. I’ve yet to walk onto the Hoe without being called to pause: This oceanic view is probably the most stunning of any I’ve seen. We bob down Madeira Road. I see a chalkboard pointing “up” toward the Fisherman’s Arms. “This is my favorite pub in Plymouth,” Norm says. “It’s a free house, a cosy place, and rivals the Minerva Inn as oldest pub in Plymouth.” On our way Norm pauses at a low, wooden bench. “We used to sit on this bench and watch the sun sink on the Hoe. It’s outside what used to be the Commercial Inn, which closed in 2014. Several of the ‘Commercial refugees’ now drink in the Fisherman's Arms.” Up a windy cobblestone street we traverse, below an apartment building bridge, and we arrive to the Fisherman’s Arms.

Donna, the pub owner, greets Norm warmly with a pint of Devon Dew for him and I. She sits at the table with us. Behind her I see a huge bouquet of lilies on the bar. Behind that sit a group of men missing teeth and laughing heartily. The walls are adorned with historic images of Plymouth. Donna’s husband, Lee, works behind the bar. 

“This pub was owned by St. Austell until I bought it last December,” Donna explains. Now, she runs it as a free house. Norm uses this time to explain the difference between pubs that belong to companies (“pubcos”) and free houses. The main pub companies today are Punch, Enterprise, and Admiral Taverns. Pubs companies lease spaces to owners. The pub company negotiates all food and drink contracts direct with suppliers like Summerskills. Pub managers then choose from their pubco options at prices the pub company sets. This price is often higher than the open market price and totally irrelevant to what is happening in the bar.

Pub companies themselves are actually a relatively new phenomenon. To help explain the situation, Norm sent me an article titled “Pubcos drinking in Last Chance Saloon” by the editor of the Good Beer Guide.

The pattern of pub-owning in Britain has changed out of all recognition in the past few decades. Pubs used to be owned in the main by breweries. But government action in the early 1990s followed a Monopolies Commission report that showed that the large national brewers acted as a cartel, fixing prices and charging far more for beer than smaller competitors…As a result of sweeping changes brought in by the government of the day, most of the big brewers sold their pub estates to new pub-owning companies, known as “pubcos” for short.

“What’s the benefit?” I ask. “There’s less initial outlay when a new owner starts the pub,” Norm explains. But he explains that the propensity for pubcos to purchase failing pubs causes a constant cycle of pubs purchase/ sale, usually to the benefit of the pubcos. The article in Protz explains how devastating this cycle is for pub owners and neighborhoods (linked below). Because pubcos benefit from sale cycles they aren’t wholly inclined to support managers. The article shows, “Figures over the last four years expose the calamitous reality of the pubco business model, with a staggering third of pubs owned by the two largest pubcos being sold off in just four years.” 

While totally intrigued by the conversation, I cannot take another sip until I fill my belly with whatever incredible scent is wafting from the kitchen. Donna’s Chef is a Moroccan, hence the smoky cinnamon smell. I order a lamb tagine special and Norm the chicken skewers. When the tagine arrives, I giggle at the side of roast potatoes. You may be able to put a Moroccan in the kitchen, but there’s still a Brit in the bar.

After a couple more drinks, Norm and I part ways. Donna calls her little dog back when it tries to sneak out with us. Seagulls call overheard. Norm is off to another festival showcasing Summerskills ales. He invites me to join but I don’t think I can handle any more beer. I decide to take a long walk instead (see the recount of my eventful day HERE). Passing a few pubs on my way out of the Barbican I note that some post signs stating “free house.” I smile to myself. I finally know what that means. And I know exactly where I’ll order my next real ale pints.

Real Ale University Chapter 2: Location, Location, Location

 Well, this isn’t right, I thought as I looked at the construction works in front of me. My iPhone told me to continue to go straight on the Southwest Coast Path told Saltram, but my eyes told me Google Maps wasn’t aware of road works. I’ll have to use my spidey senses, I sigh, spinning my bike around. I was on my way to visit the Summerskills Brewery, just across Laira Bridge Road near the Plymstock Morrison’s. It’s my second lesson in Real Ale, graciously guided by Norm of Summerskills Brewery (check out Chapter 1 HERE, in case you missed).

I wasn’t really sure what to expect of the brewery. I hark from the land of Molson-Coors, where breweries churn out millions of gallons of beer a year. In Colorado, big beer competes with the ubiquitous microbrewery, who invite customers to sit among brew kettles and sip flights of the day’s special batch. I hadn’t the faintest idea what form of Plymouth’s oldest brewery.

Eventually I located the brewery not by the smell, which I kind of expected (the entire town of Golden, Colorado, smells like malt because of Coors Brewery). I found it by the Summerskills van parked prominently outside. Summerskills was at the end of a line of other warehouse-based companies, a familiar site in this part of the world. I lean my bike against the bikes of Rob and Dan, Norm’s staff, and bound in the open warehouse door.

Very quickly I realize that Summerskills Brewery is not like American breweries because it was not American. It was very, very Devonian. Pictures of beer drinkers and beer processes and beer awards and beer festivals line the walls. Smiling staff wear multiple layers to fight the cold. The whole place felt a little rustic, a little haphazard, and a quirkily disorganized. It felt exactly like I might have expected if I had thought to expect it.

Norm barely hugs me before I begin whizzing questions to at him. He explains that one of the most important parts of Summerskills ales is its malt. Norm sources from Tuckers Maltings (Newton Abbot), quoted from the website as being one of only four malthouses in England that still produce malt in the traditional way. They use barley grown in southwest England. Tuckers Maltings is a Devon institution, offering guided tours and a huge Beer Shop. Plus, they host the industry and crowd favorite Tuckers Maltings Beer Festival in conjunction with the Society of Independent Brewers (SIBA). In fact, it was a partnership specifically between Tuckers and Summerskills that launched the first festival in 1991. This year’s festival takes place this weekend, 16-18 April.

Before the barley ever reaches Norm at Summerskills it undergoes a germination process at Tuckers. Tuckers first soaks the barley in water. Then, it is spread across cool, wide floors, where the germination process begins. Sprouts that appear during the germination process are signs that starch, the seed’s stored energy, has been converted to simple sugar. Yeast requires sugar in the fermentation process (more details below). Before the seeds have the chance to fully germinate Tuckers halts the process, drying the sprouted malt in a huge kiln. At this point malt is sent in big bags to Summerskills who continue add the next ingredients, water and hops.

One of the first things a visitor to Summerskills encounters is a large round stainless steel container used for mashing and draining malt. Dan is standing on the outside of the masher, manually turning the malt with a small shovel and a big smile. Nearing the container I smelled the trademark scent of breweries: A musty, warm, hay-like comfort wafting around us. Dan’s job that day was to dump Tucker’s malt into the masher then add hot “liquor.” I look at Norm incredulously when he used this term. “You add alcohol to malt?” I didn’t know much about beer but I knew that didn’t make sense. Norm laughed. “No, in brew terms ‘liquor’ just means water.’” That made sense to me for a few reasons…

The hot liquor mixes with malt to make “porridge.” Norm insists that the porridge is edible. It smells so good, so working-in-a-barn nutritious, I am tempted to dip a spoon in. Summerskills leaves to porridge to sit, eventually draining a syrup called ‘wort’ through small holes in the bottom of the tun. The husks of the malted barley form a natural filter that keep the protein from the cell walls out of the finished product. This protein does get through in small quantities and will form a “chill haze” as it comes out of solution in cold beer. Wheat beer tends to be cloudy because it doesn’t have this natural filtration property. I’ve been surprised to see “floaties” in my ales past; now, I hope for this cloudy quality verification. Wort moves through pipes and into copper “kettles.”   It is boiled there with hops, then cooled quickly to about 20 degrees centigrade and collected in a fermenting vessel.

According to www.rpi.edu, hops are the cone-like flowers of the female hop vine. They give beer its bitter flavor and trademark “hoppy” aroma. They also help inhibit bacteria from growing in the beer. Norm flavors Summerskills brews with dry-packed hops sourced from England, except for the “Ninja” brew which appropriately receives its hops from Slovenia. Acting a little sheepish, Norm explains that he uses Slovenian hops for Ninja only because it really is a key ingredient with a flavor that cannot be achieved in the UK. He prefers to continue the Summerskill legacy. From his first day as brewmaster Adam Summerskill used only locally sourced ingredients, not because it was the cool, hip thing to do (as it is now) but because it just made sense. Tuckers Maltings barley taste the best. Tuckers is happy to put brewers in touch with their barley farmers if both parties are agreeable. The barley grown for malting has to be top quality so farmers are usually happy to show off their farms and fields. The English hops used at Summerskills are grown in Herefordshire and Worcestershire. The other main growing region in the UK is in Kent. Norm says, “We are invited every year by our hop merchant to go on a ‘hop walk’ to see the farms and the crops before and during the harvest.” It seems to me that knowing your source just makes good business sense.

On yeast, another key ingredient, Norm has this to say: Brewers yeasts are carefully selected strains that are suitable for the fermentation of wort to produce beer.  Hops are generally only added at the liquid stages for example to the wort in the copper, and into casks when filled with finished beer. Some brewers run the wort through hops after boiling to capture the aroma that would otherwise go up the chimney during the boil.

The methodology of brewing real ale means that not only does the beer have a lesser shelf-life but it also requires manual labor (versus the oft-machinated process seen for mainstream carbonated brews). A conundrum emerges. Pubs and bars think they ought to pay less for real ale because it won’t last as long; they run the risk of it souring in the keg before cost is recovered in sales. On the other hand, real ale ought to be sold at a premium because of ingredients and labor. Premium, locally-sourced ingredients are used and staff manually ushers ingredients through every stage in the process. Norm, Summerskills, and other brewers in the region are constantly trying to educate new pub-owners about the reality of real ale. New producers with dramatically reduced prices constantly appear on the market, hoping to cash-in on real ale hyper. Competition is tough. A lot of producers go “tits-up” (to use one of my favorite British terms). “Is that why I see so many different real ales?” I query. Norm nods his head, frowning. “It’s part of the reason, yes. A lot of those guys don’t last that long.”

During our tour Norm explains the unique traits of Devon’s water. When he says, “Devon has soft water,” I wonder if all the syrup has gone to his head. Alas, he’s actually describing the chemical elements of Dartmoor’s water, which has less minerals in it than water from other regions. Dartmoor water is perfect for producing stout, which might be one of the reasons why my first Summerskills love was the Shamrock Stout. When using soft water for his ales Norm has to manually “harden” it by adding minerals. In fact, this “hardening” processing is actually called “Burtonising.” Apparently, the hardest water is found in Burton-on-Trent (Staffordshire). And here I was thinking Liverpool is “hard!” (Get it? Gangsta’ reference? Come on, ‘Mericans…)

When we start talking about mineral properties I feel like I’ve returned to high school chemistry courses. “Are you a chemist?” I ask. Norm attended Brewlab, a “beer university” hosted by the University at Sunderland, UK, proudly displaying his certificate on the wall. Norm highly recommends this course for any beermaster hopefuls. The lessons he learned there are particularly important when experimenting with new flavors. Because of the required real ale process and ingredients, every time a new beer is produced an entire batch is made. “So you have to get it right the first time!” Norm says. “We haven’t ruined a batch yet,” he smiles.

While we’ve been milling about the brewery Rob and Dan have been hard at work, loading the recognizably simple Summerskills van with beer for delivery. Norm has an appointment to drop off his Devon Dew at Countryman’s Choice in Ivybridge and in South Hams at Yealmpton Stores. He spends a portion of his days driving to breweries, picking up and dropping off kegs. “It’s a lot of work,” he says, referencing life as a brew master. “But there’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Except maybe drink the beer, I think. Stay tuned for the final chapter in this series: Pub Crawl for a Purpose.