Stu Stone. What a legend.
I first met Stu in 2003 and in 2004 the powers that be at Oasis took the (in hindsight) inspired decision to put us together. Yep, Stu and Stu working together. (If we had a pound for every time someone
asked if we were really named Stu and Stu we'd probably have enough for a bottle of Grouse.)
Over the years we got up to some real fun in the Middle East and then in Africa where I hauled him out of retirement to join me for a year on the dark continent.
Those days are over (for now), but the memories live on. NZ's a little too far from the UK to be at Stu's 40th, so instead I've penned this tale of one of our adventures. It's one of my favourites...
"We like Efes. Can we look inside?"
On every trip through the Middle East we passed the Efes brewery on the outskirts of Izmir. It was massive and as we drove along the motorway, en route to Selcuk, we'd salute the brewery, its enormous brewing towers, storage sheds and billboards. One day we decided that a visit was in order. Efes is the beer of choice in Turkey and was responsible for a fair few hangovers, so it seemed only right that we stop, pay our respects and take a tour of the place.
Without telling our passengers we set out an hour earlier than normal in the hope that a tour could be organised. After all, who could possibly say no to a truck full of foreigners hellbent on drinking themselves stupid on the brewery's produce? At lunch, having made good time that morning, we told the passengers that we were going to see if we could get in. They were pretty excited and as we cruised through Izmir many of them jammed themselves onto the truck's beach from where they could spy the Efes billboard in the distance.
Our first attempt to get to the brewery left us at the local bus station, the off ramps from the motorway being a little hard to work out. A quick u-turn and we were back on track. The next exit was after the brewery, but there seemed to be small side streets which headed in the right direction. Edging carefully between multistorey apartments we scraped our way past the locals' laundry. At each turn the passengers would wail in delight as they sighted the billboard, our beacon, our yonder star, leading our mini-Hajj to the Efes Mecca.
Finally we found the right road yet a metre high median barrier separated us from our goal. A gap in the barrier let us into the local milk treatment plant where the guard's curious stare was greeted with waving and a hasty three point turn as we sped back towards the brewery. Pulling in at the gates we stopped at the security post. Coming out from his box the guard surveyed the truck like he was looking at an alien craft, huge and yellow and topped with scraggy looking people. A few reassuring words from Stu and we were directed to a parking space just inside the boom gates.
We'd made it inside the grounds. All that was needed was to ask nicely for a tour and Bob's your uncle's brother, so Stu sauntered over to the guards box and proffering cigarettes said, in his best Turkish,
"We like Efes. Can we look inside?"
Several phone calls and cigarettes later and it seemed Stu was making progress. Turkish custom dictated that there was long discussion of football and Stu's allegiance to Galatasaray must have helped as after maybe half an hour he relayed to us that someone was coming to show us around. It was time to get ready. I locked up the cab and the passengers readied themselves, one guy donning his Beige Brigade cricket shirt.
From a side door to the building emerged a gentleman in his mid- to late-fifties. He asked Stu, in Turkish, if we spoke German which received a shake of the head and a "yok". What about English? Yes, we all did and even better our guide's English was perfect. He quickly introduced himself; trained in Munich, he was the head brewer for Efes worldwide. He went on to apologise for the inconvenience and explained that they didn't do public tours, except for the odd chemistry class, but he'd be happy to show us about. So in we traipsed a rag tag bunch of Kiwis, Aussies and poms, clad in t-shirts, boardies and jandals.
We headed into the building and up to the control room. A bank of computer screens showed the levels in each brewing tower, the temperatures and pressures. All very hi-tech. From there we exited back to where the truck was. I was gutted, some dodgy driving, a half hour wait and it all seemed to be over in five minutes. No wonder they didn't do public tours. But I was wrong and our guide led us on and into the heart of the operation.
Slipping through a small side door we found ourselves at the base of one of the massive brewing tanks. There were eight in all and each held one million litres of beer. At the bottom of the tank were two workers with a large stainless jug, a mug and grins on their faces. Drawing beer from a tap they filled the jug right before our eyes. Here it was the world's freshest Efes lager and the jug was quickly dispatched as we were all given a sample. It may have been a little warmer than ice cold, but it was GOOD.
From here we headed to the bottling room. The brewery produces a million litres a day, half going into bottles, the rest into cans and kegs. The whole operation was enormous. As bottles whizzed past, up and down along their tracks being washed, filled, capped and labelled, we slipped and slid in our jandals on the highly polished but damp floors. The red painted safety lines were ignored as we sought a closer look.
From the bottling room we moved to the adjoining warehouse. It was the biggest space I've ever been in. Pallets of beer, stacked seven and eight high stretched as far as the eye could see. Miles and miles of Efes. A truly unbelievable sight. I even managed to phone the other Oasis Overland crew to let them know where we were - they were, to say the least, very jealous. Turning a corner we saw light at the end of the tunnel and headed outside every one of us sporting ridiculous grins.
Thinking that the tour was over we began to offer up our thanks, but our guide had one more surprise and led us into the staff cafeteria. Inside plates of potato crisps had been placed on a couple of tables and one of the workers stood in the servery cracking the tops off bottles of beer.
Icy cold, free beers were handed out and greeted with rushed thank yous, sounds of gulping and none too surprising "ahhhh"s. For once, being "only the driver" wasn't a good thing as I saw Stu and the passengers getting stuck in while I drank a few glasses of the local water. The water was good, that being the reason the brewery was sited there, but I'd have rather had a couple of cold beers.
After about forty minutes or so a few people were getting a little pissed and, knowing that we still had an hour's driving to go, I called a halt to proceedings and started readying people for the onwards journey. People grabbed photos with our host, traded email addresses and promised to only drink Efes from now on. A couple of the passengers even dragged him onto the back of the truck, opened our largest Eski and showed him the contents. It was jammed full of Efes lager.
We drove away, tooting and waving and promising to call again. Health and safety concerns meant we never got the chance (something about jandals rather than safety boots) and in a way I'm glad it was a one off. It's more memorable that way.
This is only one of the great moments I spent working with Stu. No matter what anyone says about him working with him was fantastic. Sure, he's the man that led us to the wrong the country, who drunkenly brought over a hundred kilos of female back to our room one night (when I told him the next day that there were two women, he just chuckled and said "see Abi, I brought one back for you too!"), who lost his passport and some truck funds, who struggled to balance a budget, who spent more time in front of a mirror than most women, but at the end of the day he's the only man I know who literally can "organise a piss up in a brewery".
Thanks for that and happy 40th Abi. You're a great mate.
Stu
