Related Links:

• Eatingpubs.co.uk
  This Web site is helpful for people who are visiting Britain. The site is of a map and, depending where you are in Britain, you can click and it brings you up to a list of pubs in the area. It also gives you an inside look of the pub, and the hours it is open.
• The Worcester Pub and Club Guide
  This Web site is helpful for people who are visiting the area to find out about pubs but also nightclubs in the area as well. This site gives pictures of the club as well as the entertainment list for that week.

Other Stories in Opinions:

• An American’s Outlook on British Food
• Communication at its Newest Level: Instant Messaging
• Living Life to the Fullest: A Beginners Guide to Life

Coming from a country that is stringent on ID’ing underage drinkers- which we were according to United States standards- we were strangers to bars, let alone ordering drinks. But from the start, we knew it would be different from our past experiences: sweaty frat parties and binge drinking in dorm rooms.

Pubs are not just somewhere to go to get inebriated on beer. To the English, they make up the social backbone of society. You can walk into a pub at twelve in the afternoon and find it so teeming with pub-goers, that it’s hard not to wonder if anyone works in British society. Pubs, originally public houses, fulfill the role that has been theirs for ages, to serve as a place to go anytime (prior to midnight) to see familiar faces and meet countless new ones. And, of course, to sip on some local brew.

The Pubs Around Britain Web site describes pubs as “Where you first come to when in a new village or city because it is the quickest way to provide some of the warmth and comfort that you've been lacking looking at museums and old mansions all day.”

When we first arrived in Worcester, England, the castles, cathedrals, and cobblestones were striking. Coming from a country that officially dates back to 1776, viewing the vast history of England was amazing. But it was the places we ducked off to on crowded streets, to sample some fish and chips, and the people we met when we hopped all around town at night, which transformed us into locals, on our own accord.

Sure we were laughed at when we asked the British bartender for a “bottle of Bud” and received strange looks when we attempted to join conversations focused around a subject as foreign to us as football. But after our first day-long trip to the pub, we realized that the Brits were friendly and all too ready to teach us how to order a proper pint, maybe with a top or some added black current.

We soon found our own local hangouts, with the familiar personalities we grew to look for upon walking to the taps. Dogman was never seen without the company of his lass-attracting black lab, bone in mouth. He had been making his nightly pub walk, between the Wheat Sheaf and the Crown and Anchor for the past 25 years, through countless owners and barmaids, to escape the “wrath of his old lady.” Guitarman sat on his stool, writing poetry or strumming out notes, always recommending the use of black current in every type of alcoholic beverage and never fully remembering that we told him we were American, not Canadian, the night before. Foxy, the promiscuous old bloke, at his self-titled assessment “best pub in all of Worcester,” known to others as the Pig and Drum, was a dancing fiend, never failing to pass up the chance to twirl a pretty lady he fancied, and he fancied them all.

Although the same familiar faces were always there, the company and characters in the crowd varied each night. One night, it was a rambunctious group of replacement fire fighters, who provided hours of entertainment, whose conversation began with talk of “never kissing an American before” and ended with our mad dash for the door, just in case their comments of “I’ll give you a baby with an English accent” would be acted upon.

Another night with a similar ending began with trying to interpret northern English accents and moved to an all-expenses-paid evening, complete with a cab ride home. The only trouble was that sometimes these pub-goers were overly friendly, or maybe the phrase “Good night, we‘re going home to our flat without you,” did not translate into proper British English. When running away from the pursuers was not effective, we sometimes resorted to playing a game of “hide,” minus the “seek.”

Whatever the outcome of the night, we discovered a new aspect of the personalities that make up British life. Pubs, sometimes crazy, sometimes relaxing, were always unpredictable. Once in a while, we’d stumble upon our stumbling university professors, throwing back some pints with the best of them. Other times we’d find 14-year-olds being served beside us.

Pubs were the places where we’d end our days and sometimes start them. They were the places we got kicked out of, chased out of, but always returned to with open eyes and an open mouth the next day. They were where we’d kiss foreigners, hug friends and dance to music that would make us laugh at home. They were where we’d fight about politics and stereotypes, defend our beliefs and become open to those of others. We walked into one crying over anxiety about what the upcoming four months would bring and stumbled out of another crying, hating to say goodbye to the lifestyle we had grown to love.

From our first pints of Strongbow cidar, to our last orders of white wine, when we filled the till at the local Crown and Anchor with bags of left over pence, we found the local pubs to be the most comforting aspect of British society. A saviour to our culture shock, a haven across the Atlantic.