mcinertj's Qype profile

One of those inscrutable Parisian spots in what is fast becoming the trendiest areas around - the 9th, somewhere between a gay bar, a cabaret venue and a family lunching spot. It’s pure paris, definitively undefined, and dominated by its fabulous patron, Sylvain himself, and its immortal icon, his adorable Boxer dog. Everyone’s welcome at this spot, but don’t expect to get back home early…

Once a down trodden old mildewed cottage from the 19th century known around the country for its landmark status of being at the gateway to no-where, The Twelve Pins was a depressing old joint, full of stained red carpets and keyboard music sessions reminiscent of the 30’s. During the general rabid destruction of the village of Bearna under Bertie’s unrestrained pocket money agreements, this old spot was promptly demolished and rebuilt as a ubiquitous 'luxury’ hotel renamed 'The Twelve’ with underground parking etc etc. The decor inside smacks of New Money celtic tiger vulgarity, but pulls it off better than most. One item of particular note is the enormous glass unicorn on the way down to the toilets. Trad music is imported and seems out of place and the clientele consist mostly of the yound Dublin families who have been ostracised by the locals as they flocked in their hundreds, nay thousands, to move into luxury estates and endeavour to make this affluent sea side suburb into the 'South Side’ of Galway.

Off the beaten track, you may need a local to get you here, but if you manage to find it you won’t be disappointed. Downstairs is grim and less than charming, but make your way to the first level almost any weekend of the year and you’ll be garaunteed some of the best offerings in the country on the Irish traditional music scene. Miles away from the tourist drivvel of Ti Coili or The Kings Head, this is one of the places that stood tall in the trad renaissance of the 1960’s and 70’s and continues to stand at the forefront of innovation in Trad music on a national level. The guinness, like almost everywhere else in Galway, is to die for.

A century old business in a centuries old building, complete wh medieval stone carved window frames above and former medieval nunnery behind. This astounding little bar speaks all for itself, one of the last real pubs in Ireland and one of the very best of Galway’s high quality offerings. The word craic is the order of the day as you settle down by the roaring fire for a pint of excellent guinness with old friends and new. A regular haunt of the arts festival set, so expect lots of contrived dreadlocks and infected nose rings, but beyond these folk who tend to be cliquey, hypocrital and hostiley pretentious, almost everyone else there is garaunteed to be up for a laugh.

Officially reserved for members of something or other, the Pav is Trinity’s official sports bar, but generally becomes the haunt of rowdy UCD students in from the suburbs for a day. Plastic cups, nasty beer and masculinity starved boys throwing rugby balls accross peoples heads are the order of the day. Security gaurds will come, hassle you and make sure you sit within the confines of an iron gate that seperates revellers from the ever-holier-than-thou cricket players yonder. This place is only popular because there isn’t one half decent place to drink beer on a sunny day in central Dublin.

Trinity College’s Student bar boasts a city centre location that many multinational restaurant franchises would most likely commit serious, serious crimes to get their hands on. Somehow, however, the establishment has managed to go out of business in the past without much resistance at all. Taking a wild guess that this may have been something to do with the nauseating fare of baked beans, soggy bacon and greasy chips that stood as their speciality, the restaurant closed its doors and opened again last year with a revamped, and very expensive new look. Now, the underground food court boasts a sandwich counter and small salad selection alongside its still prominent beans and chips offerings. This writer’s prognosis is not good. Still though, if you have no regard for your physical health and don’t mind waiting in a twenty minute que of screaming 18 year olds from monaghan, this place is still marginally cheaper than elsewhere in the overpriced captial.

One of the first places to bring your friends when visiting Lausanne on a chilly winter’s morning. This beautiful cafe shows off the city at its best: its terrace is perched at the tope of a magnificent medieval roofed staircase that cascades down to the town; steeples of the bourg can be seen and heard as they clang on the horizon; the snowy topped Alps appear rugged and breath taking through the mist from the Lake; and one glance behind you reveals the towering spectre of one of Europe’s most impressive Cathedrals. The hot chocolate is renowned through out Switzerland (a serious compliment in the land of chocolate) and Pizzas can be ordered in the afternoon to lend more excuse to wiling away the sun soaked hours. A must see. Be there before lunch hour or you might not get a table outside…

As abstractly and arbitrarily 'Irish’ as any other Irish pub in Britain or mainland Europe, this little haunt in the cité avoids much of the twee paraprenalia and silly ornamentation that characterises its genus. A welcome relief after the horrors of its English pub counterpart a few streets away, the wood panelled interior, pleasant view and delightful terrace of this place make up for its 'theme’ mentality. Obviously, the liberal interpretation of 'guinness’ is to be avoided at all costs.

Dark, gloomy, and upsetting. This English pub seems to be here, quite literally, to serve the smattering of English businessmen and their bored families while attending a very serious conference in downtown Ouchy. early Radiohead and Oasis blares from the sound system as boy-men in striped shirts sing along. MIddle aged platinum blondes, thick fringed and obese, nurse enormous pints of second rate beer as they zone out watching footy on the telly. It’s everything people leave England to get away from, and what’s more, it’s fetishised. Give it a miss - there’s too much fun to be had in this city to waste your time here.

Clearly one of the nicest, friendliest and relaxed places to go for a pression in the heart of Lausanne. This unpretentious little haunt is packed with oaken tables and chairs around a homely theme devoted to Frog Princes in general (hence that golden crown in the title). Frequented mostly by Switzerland’s hoard of young architects and graphic designers, most people in here will know eachother, and if they don’t - it won’t take long…