Northern Ireland, 1983. Was over there on a two-week course and a couple of mates and I decided to hire a car and explore at the weekend. We headed south from Belfast through the Mourne Mountains and came across one of those pop-up RUC checkpoints.
Thr officer asked us where we were bound and we explained that we were headed for Kilkeel, having picked it at random from the map. He suggested that we might want to reconsider our plans, but when we asked why he simply said that it was a bit of a dull place. Needless to say, we ignored his advice and continued on our way.
When we got there, we found a pub and had great difficulty getting served, the barman was muttering things under his breath that we couldn't make out, though he reluctantly pulled pints for us. We sat quietly at the back of the pub, with the other drinkers all looking in our direction and the barman pointing us out to everyone who came in.
I've never drunk a pint of Guiness so quickly. We bade our host a polite farewell, checked under the car, and headed for Newcastle PDQ.
A colleague explained to us later that we had probably been mistaken for off-duty soldiers, although none of those would have been stupid enough to go into a pub in the heart of bandit country.