Drinking in the World

My favourite, and not-so-favourite cocktails from around the globe. 

Pisco Sour
Peru/Chile

Peru and Chile have long battled over who owns the Pisco Sour, but regardless of its origins, anyone who gets the chance to enjoy it is a winner. The cocktail is made from the clear distilled grape brandy pisco, blended with fresh lemon or lime, egg whites, syrup or sugar, and a dash of bitters.   It’s refreshing yet a little sour, much like a margarita, and served in a short whiskey glass, any time of day.  The Pisco Sour is the national drink of Peru, who claim that Chile stole the recipe from them during a war in the 1800’s.   That being said, the best Pisco Sour I had was in Santiago, from a homemade Chilean recipe.  Perhaps it’s time both countries sit down and discuss the issue over a cocktail.  

Raki
Albania/Turkey

In many parts of the world, locals forego major liquor brands for their own homemade moonshine. Such is the case with raki in Albania.   Raki is also found in Turkey, and known as arak in North Africa and the Middle East.  Every year in Albania,  there are cases of people going blind, or even losing their lives after consuming a particular nasty batch of raki, which is distilled from grapes and flavoured with aniseed.  Not that you’ll be able to taste much, as this traditional aperitif disintegrates everything it touches in your mouth and throat.   In Albania, homemade raki served in a glass decanter made my mouth burn and my nose run, but fortunately, left my eyesight in tact.

Saperavi Wine
Georgia

Georgians don’t know which came first: Wine, or the people to drink it.   Archaeologists have discovered traces of wine in jars that date back 8000 years, implying that tiny Georgia, bordered by Turkey, Russia, Armenia and Azerbaijan, is the birthplace of wine the world over. The country has 200 endemic species of grape, producing many types of wine that are found nowhere else.   Toastmasting is a proud tradition, as is the cultivation and production of wine in underground casks that date back generations.    Saperavi is its most famous red wine, along with the white Rkatsitelli.   Both are sweet, almost dessert-like wines, high in sugar and alcohol.    At a traditional dinner, I watch four men pour out their lauded toasts, draining at least a dozen bottles without tipping over.  France and Italy may make the finest wine, but little known Georgia lives and breathes it.  

Mampoer
South Africa 

Legend has it that the powerfully strong mampoer is an able substitute should you run out of battery acid.   Known as a type of peach brandy, mampoer can be made from any fruit, including apricots, plums, figs, prickly pear, pineapples and marula.   Its origins go back to the Dutch settlers of South Africa, who allowed soft, sweet fruit to rot in barrels for three weeks, before boiling it up a couple times to distil the alcohol from the mash.   Mampoer, which is still made by many farmers in South Africa, has an alcohol volume between 60 to 80%.    No word on whether they use it to power their tractors. 

Tequila
Mexico

 A drink can only be called tequila if it is produced in the region of Jalisco, in and around the town of Tequila itself.     Mexico’s national drink has its roots with the Aztecs, who produced a fermented drink called pulque from the agave plant.   When Spanish conquistadors ran dry of their imported liquor, they adopted the native drink to produce mescal, the name still given to a variety of liquor produced from the agave.   Tequila is a type of mescal produced only in one region, refined, and perfected, much like cognac is to brandy.   Jose Cuervo began production in 1795, and its La Rojena distillery is still in operation today, the oldest in Latin America.   Here you can see how tequila is made,  learn about its correct consumption (sipped, never shot), and drink from the family’s private cellar, where the smooth, rich sample has the fragrance of tequila, but goes down like liquid velvet.

Fermented Horse Milk
Mongolia

The chief of the nomadic tribe calls me into his traditional circular ger tent.   It’s pretty spacious considering it can be dismantled and packed onto horses in just a couple hours.  On the walls, made of fabric, are pictures of famous Mongolian wrestlers, embroidery, and cracked mirrors.  We sit at a table, and from a porcelain jug, he pours into a small wooden cup  some of his most treasured elixir.   I smile, maintaining eye contact, and bring the cup to my mouth.  A sour odour reaches my nose, the eye-watering stench of ammonia.   The liquid touches my lips, burns, the tartness stretching my tongue and forcing a muffled gag reflex.  I shoot it back, closing my eyes, somehow keeping it down.  I regain focus, breathe out a noxious gas, and silently congratulate myself.   The chief is so impressed, he immediately pours me another cup. 

Soju
South Korea

There’s nothing quite like seeing South Korean businessmen on a soju binge.   This vodka-like drink, produced from rice or other starches like potato or wheat, is poured into a shot glass, and after a toast, consumed in one gulp.   Etiquette dictates that you must not fill your own glass, that it must be held with one or two hands depending on status, and poured and received in a particular manner too.  With all the rules, dating back to the 1300’s, it’s odd to see basic courtesy go out the window as the soju takes hold, and men descend into a state of alcoholic madness.   I saw suits and ties passed out in the bushes on Seoul, or carried unconscious over the shoulder by colleagues, all on a weeknight!   Korea’a Alcohol and Liquor Industry reckons each Korean adult drinks more than 90 bottles of soju a year, where it is viewed as a positive energy source for the country. 

The Bus Ride from Tirana to Dhermi, Albania 
 It was supposed to take four hours, but it took eight, and every of them was an attack on my shattered nerves.   The bus, possibly held together by elastics, could barely make its way up steep mountain hills, while rusted springs stuck through the vinyl seats and poked in my butt (think marshmallows on a sharp twig).  The driver’s buddy thoughtfully came around to collect all the trash, and promptly through it out the window.  The surface of Mars is in better condition than most Albanian highways, but that didn’t stop the driver from playing chicken with the approaching trucks.  Wrecks lined the road to prove head-on collisions were common, just in case I thought he knew what he was doing. 

The Flight from Addis Ababa to Lalibela, Ethiopia
While we’re in Africa, lets check into the only flight I’ve ever been on that broke down mid-flight    No sooner had we taken off from one of many stops along the way than the twin prop Fokker pulled a U-turn and landed back on the runway, the result of engine/wing/equipment/something trouble.   Four hours later, another plane arrived, also experiencing technical difficulties.  The passengers from that flight transferred over to our plane, which all of a sudden worked, and took off, leaving us still on the tarmac.   Another four hours later, another plane arrived that may or may not have been in working order, but since it was a choice between a night on a runway or arrival amongst legendary 11th century rock churches, survival seemed like a small price to pay. 

The Tazara Rail from Kapiri Mposhi to Dar es Salaam
It’s one of the great African train adventures, 38 hours through scorched wilderness.  Sounds great, now lets crank the heat, overcrowd the cabin, blast bad music through distorted speakers, obscure the windows with thick layers of dust, cross the wildlife reserves at night when you can’t see anything, charge $10US for soggy eggs that nobody in their right mind would eat, and depart once a week (maybe) from a train station that is only slightly cleaner than an open pit toilet after a school trip.    Not that I’m complaining. 

The Rickshaw in Puno, Peru 
 Pedal-power rickshaws can be a charming, cheap way to get around bustling cities in the developing world.   In the southern Peruvian town of Puno, the driver is located behind the carriage, as opposed to the front of the carriage in India, or the side, as found in Malaysia.  My rickshaw took a corner and the carriage suddenly came to an abrupt halt.  I turned around and saw my driver had somehow lodged himself underneath a car.   How he did this is beyond me, as it quite possibly defied the laws of physics.  The rickshaw rider seemed OK, especially after he received a wad of notes from the car’s frantic driver.   I hopped into another rickshaw, but insisted the driver get in the carriage so I could pedal off safely myself.

The Train from Rishikesh to Chakkebank, India 
 Having waited two hours in a steaming carriage before the departure, I was exhausted from fending off beggars, and a maniac selling hot chai.  Finally, we left the station, travelled ten minutes through an open sewer, stopped, and spent another two hours waiting for Godot.   Due to a festival, the second-class sleeper carriage was crammed with people.  I dozed off on my top bunk and woke up to find two guys sitting in the gap between my legs.  When a third guy tried to join the party, I put my foot down, literally, on his head.

The Slow Boat down the Mekong River, Laos 
 The 48-hour slow boat resembles a long, wooden coffin, which is why I felt like death after the journey.  The engine is deafening, the wooden seats narrow, providing ample legroom for five-year old dwarfs. Noise, heat, splinters, smells  - it’s almost, but not quite, enough to spoil the incredible views I passed along the way

The Ferry from Salvador to Morro de Sao Paulo, Brazil Serious ocean storms are nothing to be sniggered at, even in a large catamaran designed to pounce over huge swells.   On this 90-minute ferry ride, I had two choices.   Go outside, get soaking wet and hang on for dear life, or stay inside and fill up a barf bag with yesterday’s beef stew.   It felt like the Perfect Storm, with more fear, and no life jackets.   Inside, the puke was gushing up and down the aisles.   

The Metro to Budapest Airport, Hungary 
 With a terrible hangover, I had two hours to get to the airport for my flight from Budapest to Istanbul.   Due to construction on the metro, I took a bus shuttle to the nearest station, which locals informed me was complimentary.   Not according to an overzealous ticket inspector, who let me off a considerable fine after much begging, but still confiscated my remaining metro ticket in spite.  Nervously, I rode the metro without a ticket to the last stop, only to realize I had gone in the wrong direction.  Time was ticking, my head was exploding. All the way back in the opposite direction, I arrived just in time for the airport shuttle driver to slam the door in my face.  I just made the flight, with no help whatsoever to the Budapest transit system along the way.  

The Arctic Night Bus in Sweltering Brazil
Night buses are my bane, but often provide the only way to get from A to B. What made this bus special was the driver cranking the air-con so high that icicles were forming on the edge of my nose.  Outside, it was a warm and pleasant tropical evening, but inside the bus, the Arctic Circle was blowing a snowstorm.   With all my gear inaccessibly packed way in the storage beneath me, I was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt,  spending the long, painful night shivering and shaking.  The only advantage to all this was being able to flick the frozen mosquitoes off my legs.

Originally published on Sympatico.ca