The Global Barfly’s Companion #25 by Jeremy DaCruz

Bar: La Otra Embajada (Rest in Peace)

Location:  Managua, Nicaragua

In the consciousness of most Americans, Nicaragua brings to mind images of camo-wearing, assault rifle toting guerrillas trekking through the jungle, but the Nicaragua of 2016 is an entirely different animal.

Nicaragua is a country in the midst of a tourism boom. This is largely resulting from it being the safest country in Central America and its wealth of sights, both natural and man-made. From beautiful colonial architecture to cloud forests inhabited by howler monkeys, Nicaragua is in many ways an undiscovered paradise.

Traditionally, nightlife in Nicaragua has long centered on large and utilitarian bars serving one of two national beers, Toña or Victoria, with food that is often an afterthought. However, change is on the horizon, as a result of a gradually globalizing populace with international tastes.

For a short period of time there existed a bar called La Otra Embajada. It was a member of this new wave of Nicaraguan nightlife before it closed. It was one of the few bars where one could find craft beer, in their case locally made Pinolera, as well as international cuisine in a relaxed setting. Personally, I preferred the Pinolera Stout, a smooth, tasty beer with hints of cinnamon. LOE also carried other varieties of Pinolera, standard national and imported beer, as well as a fully stocked liquor bar. Particularly notable from the liquor bar were the Irish Coffee, White Russian and Sangria.

La Otra Embajada was situated behind the Universidad Centroamericana and shared the neighborhood with the highly lauded Hispamer bookstore, a slew of bars and restaurants, and oddly enough a number of homes and apartments. The neighborhood was walkable and lively even on weeknights.

Although unassuming from the outside, the interior design of LOE was sleek and modern. White walls were lined with a conglomeration of paintings, including a portrait of Frida Kahlo, and cult movie posters. Movies were often projected on a wall to add to the ambiance.

The menu had influences from nearly every corner of the world. Tacos, pizza, hummus, and paninis were all on offer. Their Media Noche sandwich brought me back to my formative years in South Florida.

La Otra Embajada also had delicious artisan coffee. It was one of the few places in the country where one could find a Vietnamese Iced Coffee, a delicious coffee drink made with condensed milk, and other international takes on Nicaragua’s top export. La Otra Embajada was popular among the business lunch crowd and often had promotions or one-off meals directed at those patrons.

The vibe of LOE was relaxed and extremely conducive to catching up with old friends, or playing board games over a beer or sangria. If there wasn’t live music, the owner Roberto was usually playing laid back tropical house or hip-hop over the speakers. It often felt more like a cafe than a bar but this was a positive in LOE’s case.

La Otra Embajada had a dedicated following that made it to most of their events. We will remember LOE with fondness. In a country where most bars only host cover bands, LOE regularly hosted live bands playing original music. Some nights, one could catch a showing of an independent film or sing karaoke at the top of their lungs. The variety of events was a major selling for locals and foreigners.

LOE may have been more than Managua was ready for. It was eclectic yet engaging, relaxed yet lively in a city that runs at a very high pace. A bar that featured a book club and allowed a space for alternative culture to flourish. I will miss La Otra Embajada and I wish its owner and manager Roberto success in all his future endeavors.

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Jeremy DaCruz (Episode 154, Episode 197) is a recent graduate of the University of Central Florida and is currently living with his mother and his dog in Asheville, North Carolina. His time is divided between carousing about in Asheville and the surrounding countryside, reading books, and writing in anticipation of his move to Managua, Nicaragua in December of 2015. There he will be doing humanitarian work for the next two years.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #24 by Josh Dull

Bar: Vinyl Arts Bar

Location:  75 E Colonial Blvd, Orlando, FL 32801

The first time I stepped into the red glow of Vinyl Arts Bar was with Ashley Inguanta and our friend Tara. Though the bar’s grand opening had yet to occur, a few patrons danced to deep house while we sat on plush couches and smoked hookah. Owner Wilson Santos approached us, greeted Ashley with a warm hug and kiss on the cheek, and stood humbly as she praised him for attaining his vision. He shook my hand, told me that his intention with Vinyl Arts Bar was to marry two of his passions – art and nightlife. Plenty of bars around town feature paintings for sale on their walls, and while Vinyl does, Wilson’s appreciation for the arts extends to poetry, performance, music, and dance. All of which exist and thrive within this place, located just outside the urban maelstrom of Downtown Orlando, next to the 7 Eleven and a tattoo shop on Colonial.

Before even having their grand opening, Vinyl was already packed the second time I came. Wilson hosted Demagnetic Cabaret, fusing the haunting eloquence of Ashley Inguanta’s poetry with the abstract, quirky, yet fascinatingly engaging performance of Tony Christy and Laura Mansfield.

Ashley took the audience into her mindscape, a desert beneath glittering stars, and introduced us to the many “unbearable angels” by whom she’s been inspired. As one poem would end, Tony would appear and anything would happen. At one point he had an argument with a recording of himself on his phone. At another point he and Laura played several measures of bass and drums. He would even engage the audience, whether in a demonstration of hugs or “parking” people, where he lassoed myself and three volunteers, then lead us out of the building, into the back parking lot and into a parking spot. In the beautiful weirdness of it all, barriers dropped like veils among everyone in the bar. We didn’t know each other, and we didn’t completely understand what we were seeing, but that was the unifying thing we had in common.

This cohesion made it easier for us to come to the stand after the performance once Wilson opened the floor for open mic poetry. One after the other, we read. Many read original work, some read cover poems. The bar became a group of friends reading poetry to each other, reminiscent of the gatherings read about in Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg’s circles. For Vinyl’s first event as a venue for the Orlando literary/art scene, it was a roaring success.

The Grand Opening took place on a rainy Saturday evening. Classic deep house reverberated through the speakers and servers moved from couch to table to groups of people standing in the bar area, making sure everyone had a drink in hand, or prime Latin American fare from the new Coconut Latin Grill food truck parked outside. Guests sampled some uniquely crafted cocktails such as the Mixtape Mojito and the Long Island LP, which feature wine-based versions of tequila and rum. Other specially crafted drinks include a Saketini made with chilled sake and wine-based gin, and the Sangria remix. Vinyl stands as the only bar I’ve been to that’s been able to circumvent the lack of a hard liquor license this creatively. As patrons sipped their beverages, conversed, smoked hookah, and danced, local artist Cavan Koebel from RAWDEVIATIONS painted vibrant and colorful artworks on his easel.

Wilson moved through the crowds, making light conversation and ensuring all of his guests were having a great time, which we were.

Vinyl Arts Bar is brand new to both the nightlife and the art scene, but radiates with promise. In addition to open mic poetry slams, Vinyl also features Salsa on Wednesdays, guest DJs for Throwback Thursdays, and other cool and eclectic events. As Vinyl builds momentum, I hope to see it become a permanent fixture in the Orlando Art and Literary scene. It has already had an explosive beginning, and I only see it becoming more successful. Orlando needs places like this.

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Josh Dull is a U.S. Air Force veteran and an aspiring fiction author with an emphasis on social issues. He has recently completed his Bachelor’s degree with Honors in the Major from the University of Central Florida. When he isn’t at his computer writing and revising, he enjoys finding new and eclectic venues in the nightlife of whatever city he happens to be in. He currently resides in Orlando, Florida.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #23 by Josh Dull

Bar: The Treehouse

Location:  68 E Pine St, Orlando, FL 32801

Located near Magnolia Avenue and Pine Street in Downtown Orlando, The Treehouse is one of the city’s better kept secrets. For curb appeal, a single black chalkboard sits outside a narrow, shadowed stairwell only during operating hours. Or if you happen to walk through the right door in The Attic nightclub, you’ll find yourself in the small, AstroTurf carpeted space, lit by the amber glow of lanterns and string light bulbs. Should you enter by the stairwell, vines and overhanging leaves line your way into the enclosure.

The space is warm and inviting, with polished oak tables, chairs, and bar top, a digital fire blazing on one of the two TV screens behind the bar. The entire space is about the size of your living room.

Due an increase in popularity and a decrease in demand for craft cocktails, their drink menu has become more limited, however their infusion shots are still very much present, featuring flavors like apple pie and blueberry.

If you ask nicely, bartender Dan might even make one of the old craft cocktails Treehouse was once known for, such as the “Morning Wood” which begins with the bartender running a torch across a maple plank and capturing the smoke with the mason jar the drink will be served in, giving the cocktail a naturally smoky flavor. A full liquor bar leaves Dan more than capable of making classics such as the Old Fashioned or Cosmopolitan and a wide variety of beers lines the shelf and cooler, including hard to find brews such as Shiner Bock.

Overall, the greatest strength in this establishment is its novelty. With its secluded location and distinct woodland aesthetic, the patron feels they’ve found something rare, exclusive, and dare I say it, magical. The arboreal walk up the stairs is a stark shift from the urban environs outside, as is the abrupt change in scenery should one enter from the Attic. Coming to the Treehouse feels familiar, like you’ve come to a friend’s house to watch a game or just relax with a cold brew. It’s an excellent place to begin a night of barhopping in Downtown Orlando, or an interesting stop in the middle of your festivities. Bring your friends here and they will definitely be impressed.

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Josh Dull is a U.S. Air Force veteran and an aspiring fiction author with an emphasis on social issues. He has recently completed his Bachelor’s degree with Honors in the Major from the University of Central Florida. When he isn’t at his computer writing and revising, he enjoys finding new and eclectic venues in the nightlife of whatever city he happens to be in. He currently resides in Orlando, Florida.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #22 by Todd Gray

Bar: The Spotted Cat Music Club

Location: 623 Frenchmen St, New Orleans, LA 70116

I had made up my mind to take my girlfriend to see the Washboard Chaz Blues Trio playing at the Spotted Cat. Walking away from Canal down Decatur towards Esplanade Avenue was once like crossing the River Styx to sojourn to the authentic side of New Orleans—Crescent City’s seedy, but soulful underworld. Four or five years ago making this trek, I wouldn’t have pivoted past senior citizens and Midwestern tourists. Frenchman Street, my destination, was still a secret, if not a badly kept one, reserved for locals and those in the know. But as is bound to happen, mouths blabber and Frenchmen Street with its bars and music and night-time, open-air art market has become another go-to for sightseers. Granted the scene hasn’t been commercialized the same as Bourbon, sanitized like the Quarter, and those out-of-towners that venture towards Frenchmen are a little braver for it (senior citizens & Midwestern tourists not excluded).

Under the awnings of the low-squat buildings that line Decatur, leaned against the brick and mortar, sat three young scalawags that greeted my girlfriend and me. Because my girlfriend had pinned a dollar bill to her chest they exclaimed—first the one, then the other, before the last shouted it too—“Happy Birthday! Do you want some acid?” Their appearance was disheveled, their facial expressions both askew and beatific, and they squinted at the night. “Happy birthday!” they shouted again like the words were the answer to a question. I’m mixing metaphors now, but I was reminded of the Mad Hatter’s tea party from Alice in Wonderland. They high-fived us. My girlfriend became concerned she had acid on her hand. Am I tripping? she asked.

At Esplanade more young people milled about in the median that separated the avenue’s traffic. They had a pitbull in tow and a cat on a leash. The feline was perched atop one young man’s shoulder. Some were shirtless, maybe several. Instead of Wonderland it was Neverland, because these boys—despite their age, they were just boys—they were dirty and ragged and stoned. “Happy birthday!” they said. A muscular boy wanted to party with us, wanted us to stay, and I told him we were going to Frenchmen Street and he could party with us there.

White lights strung above the Frenchmen Art Market shone in the empty lot beside the free-standing, two-story, cracker-box shaped club that was the Spotted Cat. Along with the aroma of beer, blue notes drifted out the open door and onto the street. A middle-aged man clad in a red, Wisconsin Badgers hoodie brazenly lit a bowl beside the thick plate glass window that looked inside at a crowd that threatened to swamp Washboard Chaz on a stage tucked away in the club’s left-most corner. No cover said a sign, only a one drink minimum per set. Above that, the club’s sign was a board painted black with cartoon letters in yellow and red: The Spotted Cat.

Inside the Spotted Cat, the club’s narrowness squeezes you into the mass of bodies that congregate here. Hanging on the wall to your right are paintings of musicians with guitars, Robert Johnson would-bes, done in the brightest part of the color spectrum: yellows, reds, purples.

To your immediate left, the stage is flush against the plate glass window overlooking the street. Moving further back you align yourself with the bar that occupies the left-side of the club. Like any good bar, a long horizontal mirror reflects the movements of both the bartenders and their patrons. A plethora of liquor bottles wait readied at the mirror’s base. Sitting at the bar you can see behind you into a small conclave, a little nook with an ATM, where more people stand and a few—moved by music—dance.

Positioned in the back, I get into a conversation with a man with a playing card in his hat band: the six of hearts. Watching Washboard Chaz play, he’s waiting patiently with a guitar case safely stowed behind him.

I ask him if he’s going on later and he says he’s hoping to play with his friend who’s in Washboard Chaz’s band. After that he plans to go out on the street to play some more. I ask him if there’s any significance to the playing card. He smiles, removes his hat, and takes the playing card from the band. He says he found the card on the ground in Portland just before leaving. He had since seen a tarot reader about his find and she had told him, “Six of hearts, six of cups, five fell down, one stood up, and that was you. You came to New Orleans.” I wasn’t sure what this meant, but the story brought him happiness, meant his good fortune, and I was happy for him. I got the bartender’s attention to order another drink.

The bartender, he’s busy but still I ask him what’s the drink of this place-what would he recommend for a night like this. Give me a minute he says and disappears for a good while. I think maybe I’ve pushed my own luck, there’s nothing magical in this—the man’s busy. Order a beer, I think. The bartender returns and puts a drink before me.

He says, “Usually we do a Catnip but you don’t look like a Catnip guy.” My drink is a Dark & Stormy: Mount Gay Rum & Goslings Ginger Beer. Magic it is, my favorite. At the Spotted Cat, they know your soul and parts of New Orleans, given the right night, when among the right company, with the right destination in mind, provides the experience of being a character in a fantastic novel, except you’re an adult, so the journey is even more exhilarating.

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Todd Gray is a PhD student at the University of Southern Mississippi’s Center for Writers. His stories and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in The Los Angeles Review, Southwestern American Literature, Hawai’i Review, Belt Magazine, and others. Sometimes he posts on twitter @todd_gray.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #21 by Scott Gilman

Bar: The Wheel

Location: 1902-B E. MLK Blvd, Austin, TX 78702

Are there many people reading The Drunken Odyssey who live in or are visiting Austin? While I of course want an expansive audience, I don’t want too many people showing up at The Wheel, a splendid cocktail bar on Austin’s East Side. On East MLK Boulevard, within blowing distance of East Side hipster cool but at least further north and away from the beaten paths of Cesar Chavez and East Sixth, The Wheel is an understated oasis that is as trendy as it is welcoming and laid back.

Located next to a Juiceland (from where the bartenders were eating food and snacking on sandwiches during their break) The Wheel is the perfect spot for any kind of drinking leisure. Want to cozy up to the bar and drink exquisite cocktails? Check. Want to grab a table in the corner with your date and drink and talk in the darkened recesses of the place? Check. Want to go outside and drink beer while sitting on picnic tables and playing with all the dogs people brought? You can do that do.

The flexibility of the kind of social and drinking experience you can have at The Wheel is what gives the place its charm. It’s an intimate and comfortable space; you feel relaxed and at ease before you’ve even ordered your drink. The wooden panels in the ceiling add to the warmth of the interior, as does the beautiful wall with all the bottles and kegs. The outdoor patio is covered, and there is enough space in between tables to allow for a private gathering among strangers. The fountain along the back wall outside, providing ambient noise of rushing water, was a row beer taps constantly flowing (with water, just in case you got nervous).

My only complaint was the choice of music: apparently it was ‘80s night. I heard more INXS while there than I have in the past several years. Alas, that’s what the drinks are for, to help any music sound better. I tried two of the specialty cocktails. My favorite was the Madison, consisting of Knob Creek rye, vanilla bean syrup, orange and vanilla bitters. It was a little sweet but I enjoyed the way the vanilla mixed with the rye. I admit the drink went down a bit too easy. The second one I tried was the Lyllian, made of Hendriks gin, aperol, lillet blanc and grapefruit zest. Colored gin cocktails make me nervous, but this drink I liked quite a bit. It was neither too sweet or too bitter, and the grapefruit was not overwhelming.

The bar features a whiskey of the day, a concept we should all get behind, but a beer selection I found surprisingly small. Not much of an issue on a cool winter’s night, but come the spring and summer it can seem limiting. Many patrons seemed to struggle choosing their beer; Austin does not get enough credit for its thriving beer culture and I think expectations among bar patrons these days, especially at upscale cocktail bars, is that the beer choices will be as refined as the mixed drinks. I finished my night off with a Sputnik, from Austin’s own Austin Beerworks; it’s a dark beer with tons of flavor and character, so it’s not like great beer can’t be found at The Wheel. I just noticed a few people, when ordering beers, taking longer than usual.

The scene was very relaxed, as you might expect from a smaller venue with a patio. The bartenders were friendly and eager to serve. The clientele was a mix of regulars (identified by bartenders knowing their names) and those bundled up to make the most of a Sunday night on a long weekend. During busy times seating could perhaps be an issue at The Wheel, but not if you take my advice to not go there and leave this charming spot to me and my friends.

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Scott Gilman lives in Austin, Texas and enjoys exercise, reading, writing, eating and drinking. He is working on his first novel and a short story and essay collection. More of his writing can be found here.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #19 by Benjamin Toche

Venue: The Alaska State Fair

Location:  2075 Glenn Highway, Palmer, AK 99645

Alaska recently breached headlines, not for the inane blathering of one time vice presidential candidate and local doofus Sarah Palin, but for President Obama’s visit to the state to discuss boring old climate change. Few outside of the region’s press affiliates bothered to care. Instead, the residents of the 49th state busied their faceholes with one of their favored yearly indulgences: the Alaska State Fair. I set forth into the madness: the crowds and lights and rides and greasy, flash-fried things and, obviously, strong drink.

The fairgrounds occupy a chunk of appropriated farmland next to the railroad tracks that run through Palmer, a sleepy-ish farm town reminiscent of the upper Midwest. Some would call the place idyllic: ringed by jagged mountains, cut by glacial rivers, choked with wildlife. There’s a reason visiting the state is one of those bucket list items. Palmer has a certain charm and for the occasion of the fair, she dons her best act of being true, salt of the earth Americana.

Each time I go to the Alaska State Fair, I’m floored anew by the powerful need for alcohol in order to cope with the enormity of everything here. A 70-pound rutabaga. Pumpkins weighing a half-ton. Llamas. Clanky rides administered by stereotypical carnies. Who can soberly face osuch terror?

The fair does not disappoint.

The fair is home to seven watering holes. In the early afternoon, after a rousing set of pig races wherein the combatants were named after fictional characters (e.g., Lord Voldepork), I visit the swankiest of the AK fair’s booze-marts: a log style building that once upon a time was a church. A sign draped over the entrance proclaims the joint, Wine Bar.

The setting is gussied up with gauzy drapes and “art” strung with Christmas lights as if outside it was already descending into evening. Round tables with votive candles in cut-glass jars clutter the center of the main room. Love seats and low coffee tables crowd along the left hand wall. The bar sits to the right and offers a selection of wines from around the globe: Malbecs from Argentina, Riojas from Spain, Chardonnays from Napa, a wholly unexpected Veuve Clicquot – available for only $80 per bottle. Patrons hunch along the bar with long stemmed glasses, swirling and nosing and muttering about their drinks before taking small, appreciative sips. Truly, Wine Bar is not the typical image people conjure when confronted with the scale of Alaska. It’s a strange place, an attempt at culture at an event otherwise devoid of any such pretension.

I take a seat outside. Wrought iron chairs and tables with fat umbrellas sprouting from their centers offer a view of a nearby stage where dancers cavort: flamenco performed by real, and sveltely beautiful Latin Americans followed by pounding cloggers, daughters of hearty farm stock, who jiggle in not an altogether unbeautiful way themselves. The flamenco you’d expect as you nibble at $11/plate dips (white bean, olive tapenade, feta pepper served with warm, sliced baguette), but the cloggers call for an appropriately local microbrew. There are several on tap, along with your characteristically terrible macros, and the Twister Creek IPA from the Denali Brewing Company matches the cloggers’ kitsch perfectly in its crispness. Later, a local lady from Fairbanks seats herself at my table and eats a weird open-face-and-cheese-covered sandwich before she attempts a conversation, which makes me excuse myself in favor of another of my favorite fair boozeries: the beer garden.

Housed tabernacle-style in vinyl sheeting, the Oasis Beer Garden offers inside and outside seating. Rigged with green picnic tables and awash with an ambience of frat-boy charm, this place is not antithetical to what Wine Bar strives for, but it’s certainly a leap down the cultural ladder. Patrons mug for photos behind a board painted to resemble a crab fisherman from the “Deadliest Catch” series. There is a gigantic Jenga game, with 2x4s for pieces, operated by some hipsters who stumbled in from the rides that abut Oasis. A lady with a stroller arrives while a busker serenades the crowd with a washboard strapped to his chest.

I take my refuge within the tent. Shrieks issue from the rides, punctuating the general hubbub of machinery and children and their milling parents, shelling out so many dollars for rigged carnival games offering cheaply-made Chinese prizes. In Oasis, all of us drink beers. Coors Light is a popular choice. The clients are studious drinkers, bracing themselves before heading out again.

If Wine Bar was an attempt at culture, Oasis is a filling station. I have a few drinks here: Pumpkin Ale seasonal from the Alaskan Brewing Company and a couple more Twister Creeks. As I start to feel buzzed, the Jenga tower falls for the fifteenth time, startling me anew. I head out into the fair before a stop at the day’s ultimate destination.

The Sluice Box. Aptly named for that is what happens to bodies here. If Wine Bar was upscale and Oasis was too bro-tier, Sluice Box is the incarnation of what people perceive as real Alaska. Everything here screams ragamuffin and jury rig. The building is squat, ugly: a longhouse with rude wooden columns supporting open A-frame rafters; clapboard exterior but nothing to hide the place’s snaking electrical conduits. A sign above the bar proclaims, IN DOG BEERS I HAVE ONLY HAD ONE.

The barkeeps dress motley, one of them sporting a camouflage blouse about three sizes too large. She dances with her fellow keep, a slow turning step, up and down the bar back, as she waits for the head of my beer to settle. The floor is gravel and a stage at the far end holds a local act, The Voodoo Blues, whose youngish lead singer sports a floral print push-up dress as she belts out soulful tunes to the accompaniment of her crew. She’s either pretty good or passable enough due to the beers I’ve ingested. Doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s giving it her damnedest.

The Sluice Box is the place where people end up at the fair. It’s where the true believers of Dionysus aggregate at the end of their day. It’s beer on tap and they’re running a special, Heineken $5 a bottle, the cheapest you can get on the grounds. Beverage Enforcement men, stern looking beefy dudes in polos and cargo pants and boots, make sure none of the riff-raff get out of line. A palsied man enters, carrying a cheeseburger, and sits by himself at one of the low picnic tables near the live music. He eats. I watch. Later, he’s joined by an older lady who brings him a beer. He dresses in touristy clothes and an LL Bean hat, but he’s right where he belongs. This is it, and maybe it’s the beer or the dying sun or the lead singer whose pipes just can’t quite reach Robert Plant in “Whole Lotta Love” or the guitarist who doesn’t even try to imitate Page’s signature slide on the same song, but I’m swept with the feeling that this, of all the low down places of the world, is the one to visit at the Alaska State Fair.

Outside is sunset, 10PM-ish. The sky is golden and terrible. The fair begins its rumbling closing activities. I head for home.

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Benjamin Toche is an author living in Palmer, Alaska. He reads and writes when not suffering from self-induced psychological and/or interpersonal relationship problems.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #18 by Jeremy DaCruz

Bar: The Mothlight

Location: 701 Haywood Rd, Asheville, NC 28806

Asheville has been called by many names: Portland of the South, Land of the Sky, A Cesspool of Sin, Mustacheville, Beer City USA, a New Age Mecca, and others. It’s a strange and beautiful oasis nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina. A dot of blue in a sea of red. Bumper stickers read “Keep Asheville Weird” and “Buy Local,” but now that the secret is out about this town of just over 80,000 people, the artists, hippies, yogis and others of their ilk are getting forced out of downtown by rapidly rising rents and home prices. Enter West Asheville, initially a separate town that has since been incorporated into The City of Asheville, with it’s own collection of historic buildings, a walkable main street, and lower housing costs, it has grown rapidly in the last few years. Struggles with gentrification have persisted but for now West Asheville is buzzing with local life.

Bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and artisan grocers abound surrounded by old baptist churches and southern style homes with wraparound porches. On Haywood street, across from Grace Baptist Church, sits The Mothlight.

On this particular night I’m at the Mothlight to see a local band, Erica Russo and The Good Sport. I’m greeted by the doorman and I pay the cover, $5. The Mothlight is a staple in the local music scene. It hosts a diverse and fascinating range of styles and genres of music, everything from jazz, soul and folk to chillwave, metal and big band. The band tonight is a blend of jazz and folk with inflections of grit and vulnerability.

As the set progress people alternate from watching the band intently, murmuring quietly at the bar, or chatting on the couches. The front of the bar, near the couches, has large windows that in the warmer months are opened to the street fostering a connection between The Mothlight and its environs.

The final act begins a set of what I can only describe as keyboard-centric experimental pop. By now The Mothlight is about halfway full and the energy of the room has lifted to match the energy of the band. About midway through their set a pair of professional ballet dancers begin improvising to the music. One has attached a large piece of fabric to the ceiling. Aerial acrobatics in sync with the music followed. The Mothlight, and at its best Asheville as well, is a place wonderfully open to artistic experimentation.

The bar itself has a nice range of craft beer, mostly local, at reasonable prices and an average choice of liquor. For the more cash-strapped lush, like myself, they usually have a beer, National Bohemian or PBR, and shot of whiskey, Jameson or Old Crow, for under $5.

The back left of the space is occupied by the stage and a standing area for those who wish to watch the band. The bar is situated along the wall on the right side of the room with pub style bar stools running it’s length. It’s a warm and inviting space and service is quick and efficient.

The energy varies based on if there is music that night and (if so) what style the music is. It can be a quiet local watering hole perfect to catch up with an old friend or a raucous dive bar filled with sweaty bodies and blaring music.

Amongst the uncertainty that looms about Asheville’s future The Mothlight reminds one of what really makes Asheville special. The vibe is great and so is the music. The drink is reasonable. The characters you will meet are as unpredictable as they are endearing. Here’s to hoping that as Asheville’s popularity grows, its soul stays intact.

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Jeremy DaCruz (Episode 154) is a recent graduate of the University of Central Florida and is currently living with his mother and his dog in Asheville, North Carolina. His time is divided between carousing about in Asheville and the surrounding countryside, reading books, and writing in anticipation of his move to Managua, Nicaragua in December of 2015. There he will be doing humanitarian work for the next two years.

The Global Barfly’s Companion #17 by Susana Gonzales

Bar: Sorocabana

Location: San Jerónimo 98, X5000AGB Córdoba, Argentina

Córdoba, a 432 years old Argentine city, can be defined as a college town among other things.

And Nueva Córdoba is a notorious neighborhood with apartment buildings crowded with college students who walk a few blocks to and from National University campus, or Ciudad Universitaria, as it is known locally. Yrigoyen, Chacabuco, Rondeau are some important streets in Nueva Córdoba. Rondeau is an especially narrow street. Trendy bars that open late in the evening are on Rondeau, the street of bars for college students, junior professionals businessmen or simply, for young people.

But Córdoba´s DNA rests somewhere else too.

A few blocks down from Nueva Córdoba is downtown. As in colonial towns in Latin America, important buildings stand around the main square; here, it’s San Martín square: the cathedral, the former cabildo (colonial municipal administrative and government unit, now a museum and cultural center), banks, coffee shops.

And Sorocabana. Right on the corner of Buenos Aires and San Jerónimo streets, across the local bank and the square.

A huge sign on its sidewalk roof reads “café and confitería”, a coffee place. Sorocaba is much more than that; it is a bar too. In fact, people in their 80s would simply say Sorocabana is a bar.

In Spanish, at least in our local variety, a bar can also be defined as a mixture of a coffee place and a bar. That is what Sorocabana stands for. A place where anyone can sit down at a table for a cup of coffee, on tall chairs for a drink, or even on the sidewalk, under umbrellas to share a Quilmes, beer, or whisky with friends.

The array of the counter and the décor has changed over the years. Now, wooden panels on the counter and walls create a modern, clean and warm atmosphere. Croissants on a large tray sit by the taps for draft Quilmes beer, and pastries rest on a lazy Susan below an assortment of glasses for all kinds of beverages. At the back, on the shelves, bottles, tall and small, announce the blend of a café and a bar. The work area behind the counter has plenty of light that extends its intensity all over the central tables and becomes softer near the side counter, by a midsize mirror, still allowing customers to enjoy a cozy feel.

Dark tables and chairs still dominate the area by the glass walls that stand as borders separating customers focused on their conversations from the bustle of the city. Plenty of small pictures from old times framed in dark wood hanging on white pillars provide hints of a narrative. They build the history of this bar just as tables do with large papers under glass that tell short and meaningful events in the lives of regular customers that new patrons tend to read. It´s the ID of Sorocabana.

Regulars praise croissants as the best in town (and they truly are) and they can choose from bay biscuits, alfajores or other pastries and desserts to have with coffee, tea or the like. Breakfast options in all possible varieties range from coffee with croassants or criollos, jam and butter and O.J to a light version with toasts and cream cheese.

Often coffee places are tied to pictures of people reading and Sorocabana is a coffee place too. There is selection of local and national newspapers available to anyone who wants to skim through a paper, read it from beginning to end, and sip a small coffee or have a snack with a glass of beer.

It´s not unusual to see those who spend a long time gazing ay the paper, usually senior citizens, later engage in chats and jokes about soccer, politics, economy or the weather.

Have you ever heard of a coffee place that never closes? Probably, but here, in Córdoba this is, to my knowledge, the only place with such availability. Its patrons include bank employees, businessmen, families, poets, writers, musicians, singers, ordinary people…even a lady having a glass of beer while reading a book at four in the afternoon on a warm winter day. Who knows what she was thinking about while staring towards the square from her comfortable seat on the sidewalk?

Drinks, champagne, fine wines, liquors and batidos –sort of cocktails- are options alongside coffee and beer.

The list of drinks include different types of beer (Quilmes being the most popular), champagnes, Chandon, whiskeys, Old Smuggler, fine wines and other alcoholic drinks: vermouth, campari, fernet, the most popular beverage among local residents, piña colada, vodka, rum and even those that characterize famous choices from older days: caña Leggi, Espiridina and Ferroquina. They all cater for the wide range of possible customers that come and go to Sorocaban in the morning during bank hours, in the afternoon when families stop by or in the evening when people get out of theaters or looking for somewhere to hang out in the wee hours of the day.

Prices are not a problem as they are competitive and service is good; waiters are polite and have a friendly behavior. They are ready to ask any questions, make suggestions and ready to help. They kindly explain or suggest the type of picadas, snacks, in small or large bowls with peanuts, chips, jam and cheese, sausages depending on one´s choice of drink.

Córdoba is a cultural hub with a significant number of international students and tourists nowadays. Stopping by at Sorocabana for a cup of coffee, hot sandwiches, milkshakes, a glass of beer or whiskey is an experience that provides an insight in Córdoba´s identity no matter what time of the day it is.

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Susana Gonzalez is a writer living in Córdoba, Argentina.