I trail down to brekkie at 9:15. Yippee! The first bacon sighting. I get a plate of the crispy deliciousness and scrambled egg. But no bread. Keeping away from the carbs still.
After breakfast, I have a bit of a kip. I really should have got to bed earlier.
I’m meeting Marty for lunch at around 1 PM. We exchange emails. He suggests Boteco Colarinho, close to both close to both Ipanema and Copacabana. Recommended by Pete Slosberg. We arrange to meet there.
Having a little time between checkout an lunch, I head over the road to Lupulino for a quick beer. It’s a craft beer bar and where I realise I had first intended to meet with Martyn. Oh well.
There seems to be a bouncer on the door.
“We don’t have any draught beer as the lines are being cleaned.”
Can of IPA it is, then. Farra All In IPA, to be precise. It’s billed as a clear IPA but is a bit hazy. I almost certainly didn’t judge this beer. But it has the familiar oxidised flavour of many which I did.
After I pay the waitress, she give me a plastic card. I’m guessing it’s so I can get out past the bouncer. They must get a lot of runners.
It takes me a whole 20 seconds to flag down a Joe after quitting Lupulino.
The ride is quite a long one, through a couple of tunnels. Colarinho is easier to spot that I’d feared. A long narrow bar, spilling out onto the street. I grab a seat and peruse the beer menu.
I get there first and order an Antuérpia American IPA (6.5% ABV, 66 IBU) At least it isn’t oxidised. Though there isn’t much trace of American hops, either. Drinkable, but pretty dull.
Martyn is wearing a Pivovarsky Dum T-shirt. A very bright shade of yellow. He gets himself a beer, too. Of course.
We sip a beer or three as locals in swimming costumes head to and from Copacabana beach. Even though it isn’t that warm. 25º C at most.
Lunched, we’ve time to stroll down to and along the beach. I’ve not had time to do bugger all here in Rio. Good to tick at least one thing off.
For the full effect, I get myself a caipirinha to accompany my beach walk.
But I don’t have long. I need to get to the airport. And pick up my bags from the hotel. Hailing a taxi takes almost 10 seconds.
I realise it makes more sense to just continue with this taxi to the airport. Especially as this taxi driver isn’t watching TV.
The fiddly formalities don’t take long. But I still have some reals to get rid of. A short with Brazil on it for Lexxie. And some cachaça in the duty free for me. It leaves me with just five coins. Job well done.
While I’m waiting to board I fire up my laptop and watch some the Moaning of Life. While supping a couple of cachaças.
The flight is dead uneventful, as I sleep through most of it. Waking shortly before breakfast is served.
My bag pops onto the belt as one of the first. Lucky me.
No problem getting a taxi. My driver complains of how quiet it is at Schiphol. I’m only his second fare in six hours.
When I try to get my notes off my laptop, I realise I’ve fucked it by cramming it into the seat pocket on the plane. Bum.
I meant to save them to memory stick or email myself a copy. But I’d forgotten. Bastard if I’ve lost it. 7,500 words. I doubt I’ll be able to remember it all. That was the point in writing it. The shitness of my memory.
Thankfully it works when we rig it up to a monitor. Phew. It would have driven me nuts had I lost everything I’d written.
Lupulino
R. Prof. Álvaro Rodrigues, 148 A
Botafogo,
Rio de Janeiro.
Boteco Colarinho
R. Francis Caesar, 30
Copacabana ,
Rio de Janeiro.
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