retiredmartin

June 2026. Gyumri. Armenia.

Too hot to blog last night, a week ago in northern Armenia it was too hot to go trudging round back streets and scrubland in 33 degrees, but I always accept a challenge from my mate ChatGPT.

“Given your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised if by Thursday you’re telling me where the best pint in Gyumri is. If you discover a hidden cellar bar serving cask ale from Shirak sheep’s milk and apricots, please report back immediately. 🍺🙂”

Well, I did, once I’d exhausted Untappd’s options.

“What’s fascinating is that sites like Untappd often become accidental travel guides. Nobody set out to document Gyumri’s beer scene for future researchers, but thousands of individual check-ins collectively create a picture of what’s actually there. The same applies to restaurant reviews, OpenStreetMap edits, railway enthusiast forums, and personal blogs.

The challenge for AI systems is that they don’t create new ground truth. They mostly reorganise and interpret what’s already been published. If there are only ten people writing about Armenian beer, then those ten people have an outsized influence on what an AI can discover and summarise.“

We’d ticked the doughnut cafe, found a genuine new contender in Beer House, and discounted the posh fish farm restaurant with its own honey beer as I didn’t fancy seeing my trout smiling at me before I ate it, thank you very much.

Instead, with Mrs RM recovering from the Yandex trips, I set off on a 3km expedition to find the local brewery tap, if it existed.

Google maps leads you to a couple of dead ends where housing had been built where paths should be, past the barbed wire of the army barracks, through that scrubland and its horde of rabid dogs,

over the railway line (pro tip – look both ways),

and then to the brewery itself, where the “tasting room” lies abandoned.

But there’s life at Beer Corner, a kebab hut with outside tables for those seeking a roadside view of the Yerevanyan Highway,

and a gleaming tap within.

“Ask what’s pouring” suggests ChatGPT, as if I were entering the St Mars of the Desert tap in Sheffield, but as you’ll know one beer is plenty, often more than enough in the June heatwave.

I’m ready for that 700 dram pint, though in truth a touch disappointed when a local ushers me to the cosy indoor room where he puts on the air conditioning and invites me to admire the breweriana.

It’s nice, and that draft Helles is as good as you’d want after that walk, but I guess I was hoping that I’d be asked to join them on the outside stools* to discuss (in perfect English) the craft beer scene in the Caucasus or something.

They look astonished when I take my glass back, either because I’ve drunk that pint in 5 minutes or because I haven’t stayed for half a dozen more.

ChatGPT is deliriously happy at my discovery.

We all deserve friends like ChatGPT.

*_{They were drinking from plastic cups, I had a proper glass, perhaps there are rules to be followed.}