West Kent by bus - with the old codgers

I set foot outside the confines of the house last Sunday, for the first time in nearly five days. The “man flu” I referred to in a previous post, had developed into something more akin to proper flu, which rather put paid to any plans I might have had on the home and garden front. Mrs PBT’s was also feeling under the weather and had a suspicion that we might have picked up a dose of Covid whilst on the cruise.  A couple of quick lateral flow tests confirmed that Covid was not responsible for our woes but, as I remarked to my wife, the nasty head cold we were both suffering from, felt far worse than the bout of Covid I went down with back in February.

Neither of us left the house, and with me not due back at work until Monday, there was no real need to. Eileen ordered an online grocery shop, and we both got on with doing the bare minimum necessary to keep ourselves, and the house, ticking over. I knocked out several blog posts, and after finishing the unpacking, retrieved the step ladder from the shed, and placed the cases back into the loft.

I was aware of an old codger’s bus trip, organised by the local CAMRA branch for Sunday, and as the itinerary included visiting a pub, I that really was on the outer fringes of my radar, I was
determined to make sure I was fit enough to attend. Come the day I felt fit enough to attend, even though I certainly wasn’t firing on all four cylinders, so leaving myself plenty of time, I headed down to the bus stop, to await the 401 service to Westerham.

For the bus geeks of this world, Hams Travel, who are based at Flimwell, on the Kent-Sussex border, operate the route between Tonbridge and Westerham, on Sundays, affording the rare opportunity of visiting the villages to the west of Sevenoaks, that aren’t reachable by public transport during the rest of the week. This was ideal, as it would allow us to visit two pubs that we don’t often get out to, with the added bonus of sufficient time for a meal at the second one.

At the stop, outside Tonbridge Lidl, I met up with three friends, with a fourth due to join us at the Tonbridge Castle stop. The bus was around 10 minutes late, which was annoying as it would limit our time at the first pub. This was the Stanhope Arms, at Brasted, a village local with an attractive brickwork facia, tucked away at the top of a lane, close to the village church. Amazingly despite having lived over 40 years in this part of West Kent, I had never been to the Stanhope and was largely unaware of its existence.

For those who don't know, Brasted, it is an attractive, linear village that straddles the busy A25 road. The latter runs from Wrotham Heath near Maidstone to the outskirts of Guildford, and prior to the opening of the M25, this undulating single carriage road was the main east-west artery to the south of London, linking the West of Surrey to the West of Kent. Although there is still a fair amount of through traffic, it's hard to imagine the road being capable of carrying the huge number of cars and lorries that now use this stretch of the London orbital motorway. Mrs PBT’s and remarked on this fact, as we drove along this stretch of the M25 last week, on our journey home from Southampton.

Apart from the Stanhope there is now only one other pub remaining in Brasted. This follows the closure of the King’s Head and, more recently, the Bull. Both were owned by Shepherd Neame – a company with a poor track record when it comes to hanging onto pubs. The closure of these two hostelries, leaves the imposing White Hart, which is on the left if you are travelling from Sevenoaks, as the only other pub in Brasted. The White Hart today, is a rather upmarket gastropub, but during the Battle of Britain, due to its proximity to Biggin Hill airfield, it was frequented by many of the young airmen who took on the Luftwaffe, in that epic struggle

The bus dropped us in the centre of Brasted, close to the turning into Church Lane, and from there it was a 10-minute walk to the Stanhope Arms. Waiting for us outside, was local CAMRA member Tony, who was just popping in for a quick pint, having been landed with dog sitting duties, whilst his wife was away. I was the only individual out of the six of us who hadn't been to the Stanhope, but I was very impressed with what I found. The others too also thought that recent alterations to the pub have been a big improvement.

We stopped outside for the obligatory photos, but as you can see, the row of parked cars does tend to spoil the appearance of this attractive village pub, which is situated in the heart of Brasted, next to the local church, St. Martins. The pub is named after the lord of the manor, General Stanhope, who went on to become Earl Stanhope, and it retains the rustic charm of an old country pub, with several modern additions.

There are actually quite a few of the latter, as a few years ago, the Stanhope was extended and extensively modernised, but without losing its essential character. It also became a free house, following a succession of different owners – Greene King, Ind Coope and Westerham Brewery. Beers from the successor of the original Westerham Brewery, are often available, but last Sunday the choice was from Black Sheep, Old Dairy, Wainwright’s, and Bexley Brewery.

We secured ourselves a table at the rear of the main bar, overlooking the garden, but unfortunately it was a tall “posing” table, of the type where you have to shuffle on and off the equally tall stools. The pub was busy with diners – it was Sunday lunchtime, after all, and the menu looked enticing, although I imagine booking would have been essential. However, due to the bus timings, there would have been insufficient time for a meal at the Stanhope, so we grabbed a meal instead at the second pub of the day – more of that later.

Being a CAMRA organised visit, the opportunity was taken to update the Stanhope’s What Pub entry, and to have a brief chat with the landlord. The latter was keen to stress the family-run nature of the business and the fact that are a pub that serves food, rather than a restaurant that serves drinks. There is a large garden attached to the pub, plus a separate barn available for parties and weddings. Live entertainment is another option. A roaring log fire in the winter is a sought-after area, where customers can enjoy the home cooked cuisine and cask ales.

Regrettably we only had time for two pints – or at least I did, some people being much faster drinkers than me. Some are faster walkers, as well, but we left the pub in plenty of time, and were at the bus stop ready and waiting for the bus to arrive. Our next destination the award-winning Windmill, in the village of Sevenoaks Weald, which lies to the south of Sevenoaks town. I describe the Windmill as “award-winning” because that's what it was under its previous owners, Matt and Emma. The couple have subsequently move on, and now run the Nelson Arms, in Tonbridge, and whilst one or two members of our party had visited the Windmill since the change of owners, the majority of us had not, and were keen to see what changes, if any, had taken place.

The bus stop is just over 5 minute's walk from the pub, which was looking very festive, when we arrived. I’d been the only member of the group to phone ahead, and book a meal – Sunday roast, as it happened, but the rest of the party were OK, due to the “no-show” by a booking for nine people. The staff at the Windmill were therefore pleased to see four of these meals would now not be going to waste, but imagine their frustration, and annoyance, at the group who’d made the original booking.

A discussion amongst us revealed that this no show, couldn’t care less, attitude is much more common within the hospitality sector than people think. The five of us were fine though, and glad of the opportunity to sit down, and enjoy a tasty roast dinner, something that was much appreciated on such a cold day. The Windmill had an interesting selection of beers on, including Proper Job and Larkin’s Porter, but the comment was made amongst ourselves that perhaps one or two less ales, would have been better. This was particularly evident with the Larkin’s Porter, which was just on the turn. It wasn’t bad enough to take back, and I thought the slight “twang” gave the beer a more authentic taste, seeing that porters were originally aged until they developed that slightly sour “edge.”

I was outvoted on that one, as a couple of friends reminded me that modern-day brewers, including Larkin’s, do not adopt this approach. I finished my “aged” porter, before switching to Proper Job, a beer that was in fine form, and one that we don’t often see on handpump, in this part of Kent. I don’t recall which beers were available on the other bank of handpumps, but as stated above, there was a consensus that it was slightly too many.

As for the pub itself, well not that much has changed, although the advertisements for various Belgian beers are no longer present. There was a lively presence of regulars, and village folk in the main bar, along with several dogs. The Windmill continues to function as one of the main focal points of Sevenoaks Weald and is well worth calling in at if you are ever in the area. We stayed in the pub until 5pm, when we said our farewells and made our way along to the bus stop.

An Amsterdam afternoon

On the afternoon of Day 3 of the cruise I took leave of Mrs PBT’s and headed off into Central Amsterdam. In contrast to the previous day’s sunshine, Sunday was wet and windy, although by the time I’d left the ship the rain had largely eased off and turn to a light drizzle. Just before the exit from the cruise terminal, I stopped by at the information desk to pick up a street plan of the city. After a quick glance I folded it back up and placed in the inside pocket of my coat. As far as I'm aware it's still there because I didn't really need to refer to it, keeping it in reserve in case I really became lost.

My route took me towards Amsterdam’s imposing central station, scene of my first arrival in the city four and half decades beforehand, and also scene of my last departure from the Dutch capital following the 2016 Beer Writers Conference. I didn't set foot in the station, on this occasion, instead I followed the route beneath the rail tracks towards the main tourist area of the city. Having done a bit of prior research I had a particular destination in mind as my first port of call. This would be the Bierkonig beer shop, just a stone’s throw from Dam Square and the Royal Palace.

I wanted to call in there first, and purchase a few bottles, before calling in at a supermarket to pick up some biscuits and crisps. This wasn't due to there being insufficient food on the ship; far from it, instead it was because these “snack” items were intended for work colleagues, and also for son Matthew. I had also promised a few treats for Mrs PBT’s. It obviously made sense to have the heavy beer bottles at the bottom of my rucksack, and then place the snack items on top of them.

I found Bierkonig without any trouble; in fact, I just followed my nose, so no street plan was needed at this stage. The shop was closer to the centre of town than I first thought and was certainly well worth visiting. I won't go into too much detail here, as I intend writing a separate article about the shop, but what I will say is that not only is it an Aladdin’s cave crammed full of all the bottled beers you've ever dreamt about, it is also run by highly knowledgeable staff willing to give their unbiased advice on any particular beer that you may have in mind. So, without giving too much away, a big thank you to owner Jelle Hultink for your help and recommendations, as well as reinforcing my preconceptions about a particular beer that I intended to buy.

After purchasing my beers, I thought that rather than going straight to a pub, it would be best to find a supermarket and buy a few of those aforementioned goodies. I was unsure of Sunday shopping hours in the Netherlands, and didn’t want to return to the boat, empty handed.  I'd noticed a branch of Dutch supermarket Albert Heijn, in the road directly behind the royal palace, so I popped inside for a look around. I managed to obtain the items I was looking for and managed to squeeze them into my rucksack without damaging them. I also added a couple of extra beers from the ‘tJI Brewery, that I picked up in the supermarket.

It was now time for a beer, and to guide me was a copy of the excellent pub - Around Amsterdam in 80 Beers. Researched and written by Tim Skelton, a UK national who has lived in the Netherlands since 1989, Tim's book is a packed full of useful information that not only directs you to 80 of Amsterdam’s best pubs, but also provides general background guidance on matters such as the city’s culinary offerings it's beer styles and how to get around, particularly by public transport. I’d acquired the guide prior to my previous visit, and whilst a new edition has probably been published by now, I worked on the assumption there would not have been too many changes.

As an aside, whilst at lunch, the previous day, before we departed from the boat, Mrs PBT’s took great delight in telling the couple sitting on the adjacent table, that I had brought a book along, describing how to get around the city, by visiting 80 different pubs. I described this as a piece of good planning, but the subject went right over the heads of the pair, one of whom seemed more interested as to where a replacement pair of designer sunglasses could be obtained. Talk about getting one’s priorities wrong, but the couple did provide proof, if it were needed, that the company on cruise ships can sometimes leave much to be desired.

Getting back to the subject in hand, I had drawn up a shortlist of pubs to visit but was hamstrung by the fact that quite a few of them were closed on a Sunday or didn’t open until early evening. I was especially disappointed that the one pub, that I really wanted to visit, was one that was closed on the sabbath. The pub in question was In De Wildeman, and it is one of Amsterdam’s most famous beer bars.

I visited De Wildeman back in 2016 and was really impressed with what I found, as its combination of cosy intimate bars, tiled floors, wide selection of beers plus friendly and knowledgeable staff, made it the ideal pub. One has to respect the fact that everyone deserves at least one day off a week, and I suppose Sunday is as good a day as any but given Amsterdam’s popularity as an all-year-round tourist destination, I’m surprised the pub hasn’t sorted out some sort of rota. On the way back from Dam Square, I came upon De Drie Fleschjes – Three Little Bottles, a famous gin bar owned by Bol’s, but like De Wildeman, unfortunately closed.

Onwards and upwards, as they say, and as part of my forward planning I had earmarked several small closely and intimate street corner pubs, but here again, I discovered that many of them didn’t open until later on. This was no use to me, as I’d promised Eileen to be back on the ship in time for our evening meal. I walked up and down a street on the edge of the red-light district, but despite recognising some of the pubs, I didn’t really want to be walking around with my head stuck in the guide, looking like a tourist

One possible option was Proeflokaal de Ooievaar – the Stork. The pub looked lovely and cosy through the window but was rather crowded. Another candidate, Café Heffer, seemed to have been converted to a burger bar, since my edition of pub guide was published, in 2015. There was no shortage of fake Irish pubs, of course, all waiting to pull in the stag do crowds, plus the occasional cannabis shop. I took a photo of one, for the benefit of a work colleague, but despite coming of age in the early 70’s, that really isn’t my sort of thing.

The one pub I missed, was the one recommended by Bierkonig owner, Jelle Hultink. “Give Elfde Gebod, a try,” he said, “it’s on the way back to the station.” He even wrote the name down for me, on a slip of paper, but the name wasn’t very clear from his handwriting, and for some reason I couldn’t find it in the guide – probably because I didn’t want to look like a tourist, walking around with my head stuck in a guide book! It was only when we arrived home, that its name jumped out at me, off the page.  

This was obviously far too late, and a real shame too, as this charming looking pub looked a good one. It offered a range of mainly Belgian beers, but also Zundert – the only beer brewed by the Netherlands second Trappist brewery, Trappistenbrouwereij De Kievit. The only saving grace is Zundert was one of the bottles I bought at Bierk0onig. I still would like to have visited the pub though, especially following the recommendation I was given, and its write up in Tim Skelton’s guide. Next time, perhaps?

Time was getting on, so I ended up at a bar I’d visited before. De Prael Proeflokaal had been closed when I walked by earlier, but on my way to Haven van Texel – pub I had chosen from the guide, I noticed it had since opened. Seeing as this was the bar where, in 2016, I’d enjoyed a few farewell beers, before saying farewell to Amsterdam, it seemed rude not to stop off at, and do the same. I stepped inside, approached the tiled bar counter to the right of the entrance, where the friendly young barman told me to find a seat anywhere, I liked, and he would be over to take my order.

I did as instructed, finding a seat in what I thought would be a quiet part of the pub, in a raised area, towards the rear of the building, but hadn’t been sitting there long, when a large mixed party arrived, and one of the waitresses came over to take their order. I wanted to shout, “I was here first,” plus my order would be a lot easier than the rather involved and complicated one being placed, but I didn’t, of course. After all, there’s no point in making a fool of oneself in a foreign country, even if I was in the right!

I had two beers whilst there, both De Prael offerings brewed on the premises. Untappd tells me they were Herman IPA 6.5% and Johnny Green Label – a 5.7% American IPA. I much preferred the second beer. To accompany the beer, I ordered some Bitterballen, the archetypal Dutch pub snack. Made from finely ground beef, that is rolled into a ball. Coated with breadcrumbs, deep-fried, and then served with a dollop of yellow mustard, Bitterballen are the perfect accompaniment to a glass or two of beer, but don’t make the mistake of being too eager, and biting straight into them, as soon as they arrive at the table, as their interior temperature can resemble a volcano, as the soft interior can sear the roof of one’s mouth.

It was time for me to go, and on my way back to the cruise terminal, I again missed out on that other Dutch street food delicacy, a portion of chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and served up in a paper cone. I had meant to buy a cone earlier, and had several opportunities to do so, but as the afternoon wore on, my quest to find the perfect pub began to dominate all other designs. My route back to the ship took me away from the shops and the fast-food outlets, and instead took me past the ornate and imposing Basilica of Saint Nicholas, a large Catholic church, close to Central Station.

 The service had just ended, and the congregation was starting to file out, I too took my leave of Amsterdam and headed back to the Queen Victoria, to be reunited with Mrs PBT’s and share a nice buffet dinner.

Testing the waters in Amsterdam at Hannekes Boom

It was an interesting voyage to the Netherlands from Southampton, and I was wondering exactly how we would reach the Dutch capital, seeing as Amsterdam faces east, onto the Ijsselmeer, and we would be approaching from the east. An announcement from the captain, in one of his few daily updates, revealed all, as he explained the ship would be entering the North Sea Canal, via two large sea-locks, which would then take us directly into the city centre, from the west.

The locks are large enough to accommodate ocean-going liners, such as Queen Victoria, and after a short transit time we leisurely traversed this flat and rather tranquil areas of the Netherlands. The sun was shining, and the surrounding countryside was looking both pleasant and serene, and by the time our vessel sailed into the Port of Amsterdam, Mrs PBT’s and I were sitting in the restaurant, enjoying a spot of lunch. We weren’t in a great hurry to leave the ship, as we knew it would take time to berth, moor up and then wait for the land-bridge to be moved into place.

We returned to our cabin, put on our coats and walking shoes, made sure we’d got our passports, plus ship’s boarding passes, and headed down to the disembarkation deck. After swiping out, we traipsed along the covered walkway leading to the exit from the Amsterdam Cruise terminal. Despite having our passports with us, as instructed, there were no immigration officials present, and no one asked to see our papers.

This was all very different from our previous cruise when, after docking at Hamburg, our passports were examined, and stamped. Perhaps the Dutch are rather more laid back than their German counterparts, said I but, as Mrs PBT’s pointed out, details such as our passport numbers and photos were all held on the Victoria’s manifest and would be made available to the Dutch authorities, if required.

It was about a twenty-minute walk into the city, which is marked by the imposing Amsterdam Central Station. Unlike me, Mrs PBT’s has never been one for walking far, and even though her hospitalisation and spell in ICU, was nearly five years ago, still suffers from mobility issues. So, sensing that she was struggling, I suggested we pop into the nearest bar, and grab a drink, and rethink our strategy from there.

Looking back, we should perhaps have taken a cab – there were several waiting outside the cruise terminal, but I’ve never been a taxi person, preferring to walk if possible, or make use of public transport. Eileen, on the other hand, has always championed taxis as a means of getting around. Talking to a number of fellow passengers, later that evening, we learned that several of them had taken cabs into the city centre, as they considered the walk to be too long.

We were roughly hallway towards the station when I suggested the nearby bar as a compromise, and Eileen agreed that it seemed the best option. I’d already noticed signs for a bar called “Delirium”, as we walked towards a bridge over one of the canals. The bar was directly below us and, as the signs pointed out, overlooked the water. Eileen wondered what sort of bar Delirium was, but I’d recognised that the logo and the signage were identical to those I’d seen several years ago in Brussels. I therefore knew exactly what to expect – a bar offering a wide selection of around 500 different beers.

Convinced I was telling the truth, and that it wasn’t one of Amsterdam’s “alternative” hashish cafés, Eileen agreed to give Delirium a try, so we walked down the steps to the water front, and found the bar nestling under the bridge, overlooking the water. The only trouble was that with few lights on inside, it didn’t look very open. Not being someone who takes “no” for an answer, I tried the door. It opened, so I stepped inside, and this is where a member of staff appeared and told us the bar didn’t open until 4pm. He asked whether we had a reservation – a remark I thought rather strange given the substantial size of the place.

We hadn’t, of course, until Eileen reminded me that it was Saturday, and Amsterdam was a favourite destination for stag and hen nights. The staff member seemed quite apologetic, so I asked if he could recommend a bar nearby, and true to form he directed us to a place called Hannekes Boom, just a few minutes’ walk away on the other side of the underpass. We thanked him for his recommendation and headed off beneath the wide concrete bridge carrying the road and rail lines into the centre of Amsterdam.

Hannekes Boom was quite well hidden, but Mrs PBT’s saw the entrance tucked away, in a corner, almost obscured by some bushes. It was a two-storey, rambling building, with an adjoining single floor section overlooking the river. With its canvas roof, and no side walls, this part of the bar was partially open to the elements, and seemed more of a fair-weather, overspill area than anything else, but there were quite a few hardy souls taking advantage of the relatively mild conditions.

Fortunately, we managed to find a table inside, and once seated the friendly young waitress brought us over a beer menu. After a quick flick through I ordered a bottled IPA from local Amsterdam brewery ‘TJI, whilst Eileen went for a Diet Coke. Looking around we were almost certainly the oldest people present, not that it mattered, as I liked the place, and by degrees Mrs PBT’s slowly warmed to it as well. Slowly, but surely, the crowd in the bar began to drift away, although after chatting to one of the waiters, we learned that many would be back, come the evening.

I decided another beer was in order, and this time I went for one of the draft offerings – a La Chouffe Blonde. La Chouffe use a picture of a little dwarf to advertise their beers, and whilst I have enjoyed this beer in bottled form, several times in the UK, this was the first time I had sampled it on tap. The waiter, who brought the beer over, told us that he’d spent time living in Norfolk, although he didn’t say where, but reinforced what he’d said earlier about Hannekes Boom expecting a busy Saturday evening.

We were fortunate to have experienced the bar during a quiet period, and going on what we’d witnessed earlier, it did seem a proper community pub. Given its situation, right on the waterfront, we could understand its popularity, but given its tucked away location we wouldn’t have found it without the guidance from the barman at Delirium.

After paying our tab, we took a slow wander back to the cruise terminal. Mrs PBT’s hadn’t exactly seen the sights of Amsterdam, but she had experienced a little of the friendly and easy-going attitude of its inhabitants.  However, knowing that I wanted to refresh myself further with Amsterdam, she suggested I took a trip into the city the following day, a suggestion I was more than happy to follow up on. Next time read about what I got up in the city centre, how I found quite a few pubs closed, and how I tracked down what is certainly one of the best beer shops in the Netherlands, and probably further afield as well.