My step counter/watch died yesterday. Leaving me to rely on the arrival of daylight to tell me when to rise.
For the first time this trip, I go for breakfast. Only because it's free. It's what I now recognise as a typical Brazilian hotel breakfast. Scrambled eggs, that weird sliced up sausage, cake and fruit. Oh, and cheese. I have some of the first and the last. The cheese is much better than in Florianopolis. It actually has some flavour.
Martyn won't be arriving until mid to late afternoon. Looks like I'll be lunching alone.
First, I nip down to the supermarket. To get myself some water and a bottle of Velho Barreiro. 13.50 reals it cost - that's more than 2 euros. And it's only a 910 ml bottle. The thieving bastards.
This is great. I can remember where everything is here. Where to go for lunch? Choperia Tunga, perhaps.
Blumenau high street is as lively as ever. No deserted shop units and plenty of punters. And plenty of shade for watery old me to walk in.
I sit outside Choperia Tunga and wait for a waiter. Another bloke equally decrepit and weight-challenged does the same at the other end of the seating. After 10 minutes, I call it a day. The other bloke was less patient than me and fucked off after 5 minutes.
I give the weirdly-named Tip Tim just over the river a try. The sun burns on the shadeless bridge. I'm well ready for a cold beer when I get to the other side.
I grab a seat in the covered outdoor area. And odrer a big bottle of Kaiser. Some fish thing. And a cachaca. purely for digestive purposes.
The four blokes on the table in front of me just got a huge pile of meat and chips that they're sharing. Looks like enough food to feed 20 starving giants.
The Kaiser isn't great, but it's cold and wet. Just what I need after a bit of a walk. Unsurprisingly, it's hot. far too hot for someone as English as me.
The cachaca isn't what I expected. It's a capirinha rather than a shot. Served in a jam jar. Pretty nice, mind. full of alcoholy goodness. So nice, I order a second.
The four blokes have polished off their food mountain without too much trouble. I guess they won't be eating for another week.
I feel so hot on the way home that I nip into a couple of shops just to cool down. It seems worse here than in Sao Paolo, I think because it's more humid. The sun isn't even out and my brain is boiling.
I liven up after 20 minutes in my airconditioned room. Thank god for airco. I really wouldn't be able to do Brazil without it.
Hanging around in my room I cool down while I wait for an enail from Martyn. Which never comes.
There's a bus to dinner at 19:30. I wander downstairs half an hour before, hoping to meet up with some fellow judges. And have a quick beer. I'm not disappointed. There's a whole gaggle of them. Many of then I know.
Martyn turns up with bags of shopping. Iberia lost his bag and he's had to buy new clothes. That's one of my nightmares. Not buying new clothes. My bag being lost. (Though I'm not that keen on buying clothes, either.) It's happened once. That's why I always have a change of clothes in my carry-on luggage.
I sit at a table with Pete Slosberg, Martyn, Chris Flaskamp and Doug Piper. What to drink? I kick off with a cocoa IPA that's recommended to me. A bit strange, but tasty enough. After that I move on to Imperial Stout. It feels like that kind of night.
It's well after 21:00 when the buffet opens. I nip straight in. Not that I'm feeling that hungry. It's a bit late for me.
I have a very interesting chat with one of the Polish judges about Grodziskie, one of my many beery obsessions.
By the time we get back to the hotel, it's pushing midnight. The bus to judging tomorrow is at 8:00. Unsurprisingly, everyone goes straight to their room.
R. República Argentina, 74
Blumenau - SC.
My accommodation most of my food and some beer were paid for by Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas Blumenau. All travelling expenses I paid myself.