SirAliztare's VirtualTourist Home Page

Residing in lodgings overlooking Shoreditch Park in North London, I have resolved to set out on a quest to meet two of my old warring buddies in Luxembourg, and all before Christmas. However, already obstacles stand in my way, a crippling financial situation, rampant alcoholism and my limited sense of duty- to anything. This time will be different, there will be sobriety, asceticism and cambozola, all of which will produce a massive crescendo when I hit the indescribable streets of Luxembourg. My contacts there portend that life is good, but rumours in Blighty tend to disagree. Is this some Continental propaganda designed to lure me ever closer to capitalised ideal? Or is the Ardennes really the stuff of fairytales? (And houses made purely of sweets?) Only upon the succesful completion of my quest will I be able to relate the splendours, or dangers, of this foreign land. In the meantime I will do my best to inform of my past conquests, starting, as all should, with my local.

Until next time...

Having made the necessary arrangements (to organise an evening in the Scotch Whiskey Society in Farringdon) I now find that my party to Luxembourg has now increased to two. That is myself, the courageous Sir Aliztare du Hoxton Savage, and my good friend, and most excellent knight, Sir Auztin La Cote Male Taile. Between our two persons there resides so much noblesse, prouesse and largesse that we feel it impertinent to the general public to do anything more than crawl around the seediest drinking dens of a weekend in order to counterbalance our surpassing virtue. Of course, upon arriving in Luxembourg we will assume our natural bearing and proclaim ourselves ever ready and willing to defend our honour in the joust to the most fearsome of French knights- a contradiction in terms?- and always accomodating to the most timid of damosels. Sir Auztin has ventured to Victoria today to procure the tickets and so this chivalrous expedition begins to grind into action.

Tally Ho!

With tickets in the sock drawer and a beady eye on the best exchange rate, all that remains in the two weeks preceeding our magnaminous excursion is to carry on in a subdued and inexpensive medley of not frequenting bars, staying away from take-away food and researching the history and potential pitfalls of making such a trip.

Unfortunately the weekend brought anything but this, but has allowed me introduce to you the most splendid food and drink crawl in London. I call it the 'Red Crawl'. As I work in Waterloo I naturally finished work on Friday and immediately took advantage of happy hour Mojitos in Cubana on Bayliss Road. Having met my fellow warrior, Sir Auztin, and some other acquaintances, and reaching the end of that most gracious hour, we decided to take the bus up to Kingsland Road. There we dined at the superb Hanoi Cafe, traditional Vietnamese food and beer that smells like nepalm in the morning. Following a delightful fried snapper, myself and Sir Auztin went to one of our preferred haunts, known to us as the 'Russian Bar' becuase the sign's in Russian, and neither myself nor my compatriot speakee. There we enjoyed Guiness and vodka at extremely reasonable prices before retiring to Hoxton.

However, the next night I was out in Islington with some Eastern European associates who insist I take them to the Russian Bar. When we entered their jaws hit the ground. It turns out this place is the stronghold of the Russian Mafia, according to my sources. The cartoon sign outside is of the Russian equivalent of Tom and Jerry. The title of the show: 'Catch me if you can.'

(I would still recommend it, although my E European friends swear to never go near the place again)

There can be little doubt that now Advent is in full swing monetary decision making will grow ever egregious. To top it all off I am having a party at my Hoxton abode tomorrow night. As it is the festive season I am up to my breastplate in Christmas tree selection, muld wine concoction and testing verious brands of mince pies, the last task being particularly dainty, except when trying to mount my steed after a diffuse tasting session.

With just two days remaining until the 'big push' I am more prepared than ever to face the chivalry of French knights and the approaches of Bourg ladies. I now have 180 euros with which to feed my thirst and fund my Christmas shopping. I must only tarry now for a pub quiz at the Canonbury Arms this evening and to go to work.

But once the clock strikes 10 at Victoria coach station, the adventure begins!

Well, we went, we saw, we got drunk. Luxembourg is an odd little place, nestling on a very spikey looking ravine. The coach journey there really set the tone for the whole weekend- port, sherry, mackerel and throwing an aubergeine overboard on the passage across the channel. We eventually arrived in the city at about 9.30am and immediately set about procuring a map and surprising our friend at work. Two hours later we were on the road out of town taking suspect directions from an Irish restauranteur. We eventually found 'Oscar Wilde's', my friends place of employ, and may I say what a delightful snug it keeps- especially as we had been strolling through the streets in below freezing weather and the pub boasted an open fire.
The rest of the weekend was an orgy of Bofferding (the local brew), Irish coffee and wild boar.

Well worth a visit.