Poughkeepsian pub crawl travels downhill with each pint

Oh, Poughkeepsie drinking scene, oft you have tempted me with your erstwhile gaze. As I toil endlessly in scholastic efforts—engaging in positively laborious, idealistic dialogues on Cartesian doubt and formless formalism—you wait in the shadows, tempting me with your promises of real-world people, drinking real-world beer, getting into real-world arguments.
Shall I compare thee to a breath of fresh air? Nay. Perhaps a breath of stale grime, albeit a dependably consistent one—one that's been lingering in the air since long before I came here and will remain long after my four-year tenure is complete.

All that poetry aside, I find myself remiss for never before taking the time to explore this particular cultural niche. I was never really into the bar scene at home, and Vassar doesn't exactly push you out of the front gate with much force. But a semester abroad at the University of St. Andrews in Fife, Scotland radically and permanently reversed this particular character trait of mine.

When you live in a town that has more pubs per capita than anywhere else in Great Britain, you get inundated with pub culture pretty swiftly—having class only two days a week helps, too. And so I was introduced to the many intricacies and customs that one finds in Scottish pub culture—most notably the pub crawl.

Before delving into the details of my Poughkeepsie version of the Scottish pub crawl, however, I should note that this all took place on a Wednesday night, and so it will differ from the same trip on a Friday or a Saturday. If you're wondering why anyone would choose the dead middle of the week to experiment with new bars, I can't really say that I have a good answer for that. I just know that in my three years at Vassar, I've often found myself drinking in the middle of the week. Maybe I'm simply ahead of the game when compared to the Thursday-night partying that characterizes our life of leisure here at school. But then again, maybe this actually means that I'm several steps behind in the game that actually matters—that thing we call real life. Judging by the number of locals I encountered over the course of my night, however, it seems that I am not the only one in Poughkeepsie that enjoys a libation or two on "hump day." Since it's said that you can't really be an alcoholic until you leave college—and because I seem to perpetually find myself on the path to Wednesday-night inebriation—I finally decided to spend an evening immersed in the truly enigmatic bar scene of downtown Poughkeepsie. And, seeing as my experience drinking in Poughkeepsie has been limited to afternoon drinks at Babycakes and foggy nights at The Dubliner and The Dutch Cabin, I decided to check out the "riverfront district" and really get into the nitty-gritty of drunk Po-Town.

The plan that my co-conspirators and I initially hatched was to hit five bars. We'd start at The Mad Hatter—which is next to the Bardavon on Market Street—and then work our way to the river, stopping at The Derby, Spanky's and Mahoney's. We planned to finish our trek at the fairly-hidden and relatively-unknown River Station. Of course, like most of my plans, this one was subject to many spur-of-the-moment transformations.

The Mad Hatter
After parking the designated driver's car by the train station, we walked all the way back uphill to The Mad Hatter on Market Street, all the while wondering why more Vassar students don't come into downtown Poughkeepsie for these sorts of evenings—it's a great way to get away from the repetitive party scene of Vassar. In saying this, however, we already had the answer to our question—it really can be uncomfortable walking the streets of Poughkeepsie at night. It's not that it feels dangerous, we agreed; it's more that it doesn't feel like a place for having fun. Why did we feel that way, though?

We all agreed that Poughkeepsie has so much promise. It almost seems like we live in a little European town after World War II—so much around us is harsh and uneasy, and yet a few wonderful beacons shine through as reminders of how good things used to be and how good they could be in the future. The present cityscape, however, is not a full actualization of the city's potential. At this point of the walk, we looked to our left and right across Main Street and realized that we were standing next to a nursing home and across the street from a senior center. Collectively, these were the two buildings that took up most of the block on either side. It's not that I have anything against old people, but the fact that these two buildings were protruding onto the sidewalk, forcing their unadorned splotchy brick presence upon anyone that walked by, suggested why Vassar students might stay closer to campus. Too many things are sucking away at the life of downtown with not enough to provide a spirit that might counteract this drain. The slightly depressing bent of our conversation was only compounded when we arrived at the Mad Hatter, which was decidedly closed. It seems this dignified establishment (its slogan: "Where beautiful people go to get ugly!") is only open on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. No respect for midweek drinking.

Herein lies the first transformation of the aforementioned plan. Instead of stopping at the top of the hill and stumbling our way down to the bars by the river, we would do all our drinking at the same elevation, in the bars around the train station. Plodding back downhill, our spirits were actually pretty light despite the cold. We never we had a good night was ahead of us, and we exchanged constant friendly banter as we traipsed back downhill. And this is what I would like anyone who made it through that rant to take away: Despite the apprehension that every Vassar student—myself included—seems to hold towards the notion of "Poughkeepsie," it can't hurt to explore some new digs in the company of good friends.

The Derby
The Derby, on the corner of Main and South Clover, was the first place on our list that we were actually able to explore. The Derby is a combination jazz club and restaurant, with the two sections separated by a wooden divide. If you go there for food, you won't be disappointed—I peeked on the plates of some people sitting nearby and saw some big sandwiches, a nice looking fillet mignon and, my personal favorite, double fried fries—but we were there for the drinks. The Derby has a pretty good beer selection with a lot on tap, including some seasonal and local beers. If they still have it when you go, I recommend the Brooklyn Winter Ale, which is very malty in a "put hair on your chest, no fruity beers allowed" type of way. One point against The Derby, however, is that its drinks just aren't the cheapest, and as my entire group was on the "I'll starve if I don't save a few bucks for tomorrow's groceries" budget, we decided to leave after a few drinks. We concluded unanimously that The Derby deserves a rating of three and a half bowler hats.

Spanky's
We dodged cars to cross the street and entered Spanky's, a Creole-themed restaurant and bar, where the owner informed me that he desperately wants Vassar students to start coming to his bar, which offers some pretty good drink deals on weekends. Two of my friends opted for the tempting Voodoo Martini, but I played it safe with some Bass on draught. After a few pints, my appetite and lowered inhibitions got the best of my wallet, and I ordered a small appetizer dish: spicy crawfish over rice. Something about the dish didn't sit so well in my bulging stomach. Maybe it has something to do with my ravenously consuming it in under a minute, but it could also be that these shellfish most likely made their way here from the Gulf of Mexico in a truck. We were extensively entertained during our stay, however, by Little Sinatra—a puppeteer with a scarily good impression of the Rat Pack's leader. We sang together as we walked out the door and decided that Spanky's deserves a rating of seven little shrimp.

River Station
Our third outing was, once again, a departure from the original plan of attack. We reasoned that Mahoney's was probably best left for last, as the crowd would probably be more, well, exuberant later in the evening. So we marched past the train station to the hole-in-the-wall River Station. Stepping through the door here was pretty arresting. This place might be where you go to have a drink if you really don't have anywhere else to go. Seven TVs all played the same channel, although no one was watching, and most people at the bar sat looking into their glasses. We noisily made our way to a booth and soon noticed that the bar had a surprisingly large selection of beers to choose from. Again, however, I played it safe for the sake of my queasy stomach and ordered the ginger ale of the beer world, a Blue Moon. At this point in the night, my memory begins to get a little foggy. I do recall that our conversation turned to topics that are best not published. I can assure you that while our boisterousness resulted in a wonderful hour for the four of us, the couple next to us trying to enjoy their evening was less than pleased. We soon stumbled out of the door, with the group verdict that River Station deserved twelve and a half empty pint glasses, including a half-eaten PB&J thrown in there.

Mahoney's
I am sorry to say that at this point my memory of the night faded and all I have to report about our time at Mahoney's are the few legible notes that I can read in my notepad, which I will now transcribe:

• Bouncer is the biggest man I've ever seen—has a creepy lazy eye, but the cheesecake he's eating looks DAMN good.
• Who the fuck would pay $6 for a shot of Canadian Club?
• There are more Marist students here than our entire senior class.
• Strange that even though I spent a night here for Meet Me in Poughkeepsie, I never saw this because we were kept in that concrete room.
• Stomach hurts, bathrooms are nice.
• Mahoney's chili—never try again.
• Bearded man says he killed a shark in Miami last week—I can tell in his eyes he's lying.
• Overall rating—26 three-leaf clovers.

And there you have it, folks: a pub crawl through downtown Poughkeepsie. In keeping with the tradition of Scottish drinking, I got far too drunk to write a coherent article and for that reason would enthusiastically recommend exploring the area around the train station to anyone with a sense of adventure. I assure you that if you go with friends you will have more than a good time, and you may meet some new people, too. As an aside, the ratings above are entirely subjective and do not reflect the views of The Miscellany News or Vassar College.