Blumenau, Blumenau

I rise quite early, not long after seven. Nature has worked its wonders and woken me again. The bastard.

Leaving me more than enough time to prepare for checking out. Not much to pack. Just my computer and associated bits.

The breakfast room is fairly empty. That’s what getting up early brings you. I get the same as every day: three slices of bacon, scrambled egg and some bits of fruit. Coffee, too, of course. I won’t be going anywhere without a few cups.

No breakfast photo today. I forgot to take one. I hope you aren’t too disappointed.

Most other diners look like they’ll be hitting the beach. Why else would they be wearing swimming costumes underneath loose outer clothing? Not so odd for a hotel that’s a couple of hundred metres from the beach.

My sunburn hasn’t got any worse. Except that my nose is peeling. Not exactly the classiest of looks. At least I have a good excuse for having a red face.

I love Rio. Now I’ve been here in daylight. On my previous two visits, I spent more time asleep than awake.  I get to see a bit more of the city as my cab rocks and rolls towards the airport. Santos Dumont, this time. Quite a small domestic airport. Small is good, when it comes to airports.

I also get to see some trams. “Tram, tram.” I say quietly to myself. A shame the kids aren’t here to hear it. Though I do hope that the driver hasn’t. Don’t want him thinking I’m some kind of crazy man.

I dump my bag pretty quickly. Security is over in a minute and I have ninety minutes to kill. What could I possibly do? I know – go to a bar. Just for a change.

This place will do. It looks like they make cocktails. “Uma caipirinha, com limon y cachaca.” I’m getting so fluent. In ordering caipirinhas. Though if doesn’t have lemon and cachaca in it, how the hell is it a caipirinha? I can’t say fuck all else. At least I can sound confident when ordering a caipirinha.

I wonder if it’s as strong as the beach ones? It is quite small. And cost 25 reals. On the beach 500 ml was just 20 reals.

Everything has gone really well, so far. I’m really getting the hang of Brazil. The people are so laid back, they’re almost falling over.

Time for caipirinha number two.

The people on the next table had a soft drink that came in a 510 ml bottle. WTF? They love weird sizes in Brazil.

The other customers are getting stuck into large plates of food. Bits of beef with a big pile of chips is popular. Along with draught beer. I’m an outlier with my diet of cocktails. And sunburnt knees. No-one else has those.

I’m yawning like a stoned hippo again. What could the reason be? Maybe those caipirinhas. Or that food I ate three hours ago. That’ll be it. Always the food that gets you.

Caipirinha number three is double the size of the first two. Does that mean there’s more booze in it? Or just more ice? The next question is: what size will number four be?

It’s big!

Not much to report about my flight. It takes off, I’m fed a snack and a drink. It lands again. The luggage is coming off by the time I get to the carousel. It couldn’t have gone any better.

My driver is waiting for me and we head north. Just as we leave, a few spots of rain trace dotted lines on the windows. Then all hell breaks loose. We splish and splash through a massive thunderstorm. Illuminated by jagged stabs of lightning. I’m glad I’m inside.

The tops of the flanking hills are invisible, obscured by swirls of cloud. Below, ranks of trees slowly march down the slopes. Their deep luscious green contrasting with the exposed terracotta earth closer to the road. Like the colours of the Portuguese flag.

It’s mostly eased off by the time we get to my hotel. Where I’m soon in the lift clutching my goody bag.

The hotel is much nicer than last time. That was a little, er, basic. Putting it politely.

The bus for the introductory dinner is at 7 PM. I go down to the lobby a bit after 6, hoping to find some fellow judges and bar action. The former works out, the latter not. I chat with Ben for a while until it’s bus time.

Dinner is at the same location as last year, Moinho do Vale. We’re given radio headphones as we enter. Well, the non-Brazilians are. Brazilians won’t be needing them.

Having stood around more than enough already, I sit at a table. Where I order a big bottle of Tripel (from Cervejaria Leopoldina). Full of alcoholy goodness. And pretty drinkable. I’m certainly not complaining when I’m getting it for nowt.

After a while, Tim Webb and Stephen Beaumont show up and sit at the table. I hadn’t realised that they’d be here. Claire from Good Beer Hunting joins us, too.

It’s pretty loud, just from the assembled pissheads. Sorry, judges. You can only really hold a conversation with an immediate neighbour.

A man in lederhosen and a woman in a dirndl come around offering rollmops. Some turn up their noses. Not me. I love me a rollmop. So much so, I have another when they appear a second time.

When I next get the waiter’s attention, I order two large bottles of Tripel. And another of Grape Ale. Wouldn’t want to be running out of beer. The Grape stuff isn’t for me, though. I’ll be sticking to beery beer.

There are various speeches, which, thankfully, don’t last too long. Without too much shouting. Who was it last year with rock star delusions? Weird and crazy. Just not in a good way.

Finally, we get fed. I can see why they had the speeches first. A buffet, obviously. It’s OK, for what it is. Resisting the multiple carbs, I get a little potato salad, some green stuff, beef and fish. Not a huge pile. I’m not a gutsy bastard, despite my fat gut.

Tim and Stephen, not wanting to wait until the bus at 11, head off in search of an Uber. I can’t say that I blame them. I’m ready for home, too. They return a bit later: no Ubers to be found.

Chris Flaskamp turns up with his luggage. He’s come straight from the airport. It’s great to see him again. We’ve become quite good mates. Hopefully, I’ll get to see his brewery again. It has a cracking location, surrounded by vineyards, the snow-capped Andes in the background.

I take the first bus. And go straight to my room. Not even tempted by the offer of a bar. I’m knacked. And I have a nice bottle of whisky waiting for me upstairs. I hope they’re suitably dressed for the occasion.

Early start tomorrow: the judgment bus is scheduled for 7:30. After cuddling up with the whisky to watch Match of the Day 2, I turn in.

Ardmore takes be by the hand, and we go to Potatoland.


Rollmopswagen
www.rollmopswagen.com.br


Restaurante Moinho do Vale
R. Porto Rico, 66
Ponta Aguda, Blumenau
SC, 89050-010.
http://www.restaurantemoinhodovale.com.br/


Disclosure: Concorso Brasiliero de Cervejas paid for my hotel during the judging as well as for some food and drink.