Last full day

I've nothing on my schedule today, save for the closing dinner. And the bus to that is at 21:00.

Sorry, that's not quite true. I have a Covid test scheduled for 9:00. Travelling is so much fun nowadays.

At 8:45, just as I'm getting dressed, there's a knock on the door. It's the woman performing my Covid test. It takes the usual 5 seconds and costs around 50 euros. And that's supposedly a discount rate. Still, better than the $149 I paid in Florida.

I wend my way to breakfast. Where I go mental and have some scrambled eggs with my cheese. Only a few judges and no-one there I really know well.

At 10:00 I have a Zoom call for Sheffield Beer Week. Theme: how to become a beer historian. My 20-minute chunk is on finding and interpreting sources. I don't have slides and just do it off the top of my head. Unlike some other speakers, who appear much better prepared.

It's a bit after 12:00 when we're done. Time for some lunch. I don't fancy walking into town and look on the web for closer options. There are a couple of pizza places and Restaurante e Lanchonete R7. That'll do.

It also seems to be a pizza place, but only in the evenings. It has the classic Brazilian buffet lunch. I take a seat and order a capirinha. "Vodka or cachaca?" The waiter asks. "Cachaca." What else am I going to have. the waiter comes back and tells me they're out of cachaca. Oh, well. Vodka it is then.

I try not to go too crazy. Even though it will be a long time until my next meal.

All the other customers are clearly workers on their lunch break. The buffet is a very reasonable 20 reals - just over 3 euros.

I treat myself to another couple of capirinhas. They aren't bad. Despite containing vodka rathe than cachaca. Plenty of limes.

despite it only being a short walk, I'm as sweaty as a pig on a trip to the sun by the time I get back to the hotel. It's only 30 C, but humid as hell. This climate really does me in.

Martyn sends an email. He's off for lunch. How about 19:00 in the hotel for the old beer tasting, I ask? As that clashes with the Groziskie talk, Martyn suggests the closing dinner. I suppose I'll see everyone there. The bus is at 21:00. Which I find rather late. I need to be up at 7:00, at the very latest. I could do without a late night.

Just before 19:00, Martyn contacts me again: the dinner has been cancelled. Everyone is going to Omar's instead.

A quick search on the internet doesn't come up with anything sensible. Just doctors and other weird stuff. This isn't very good. Then I twig. It must be Oma's brewpub. Martyn has clearly spent too much time in the Middle East.

I could walk down there. In, maybe 20 minutes. 20 really unpleasant minutes. And me a sweaty mess on arrival. Bugger that. Let's do something daring. Like order an Uber. To test the process out for tomorrow. When I really need one to get to Navegantes airport.

It seems very simple. Costs fuck all and gets me there in as fragrant a form as I'll ever be. Maybe that's why all the kids use it so much. It would definitely have been handy in Florida.

Lots of judges are there. And about all the ones I know well. What's the collective noun for beer judges? A flight? There's a flight of beer judges in Oma's. Well, outside it. There isn't really any space inside at all.

As it's my last night in Brazil, I get a Catharina Sour. Very pleasant it is, too. Lots of tropical fruit flavours.

I'm sitting a a table with Martyin, Chirs, Susan and Tim Webb. The latter much morely lively than yesterday. Though that wouldn't be hard. I've soon jauntier-looking corpses than yesterday's Tim.

The only real food option is from a truck. Very meat baased. I order sliced bits of picanha. Should be nice, if don't overcook it. And chips. Haven't had more than a handful this trip. Most of those were this afternoon.

The beef isn't bad. Some of it is still pretty pink inside. Way too many chips, for me. That cheeky bastard Chris is nicking some of my meat. Can't he wait for his own meal?

I just about get through all the meat. With the "help" of Chris.

Just three old beers this year. Blame Latam for that. McEwans Strong Ale, brewed at the Guinness brewery in Jamaica in 1979 or 1980. Carlsberg Special from a cellar at Carlsberg. No idea of the age, but pretty old. Finally, a Crombé Kriekenbier. No idea, really, of the age. Probably at least 20 years old.

We start with the Carlsberg. Dark brown in colour, I assume from oxidisation. Quite pleasant in a sherry sort of way. I wouldn't want to drink a pint of it, mind.

McEwans Strong Ale is pretty flat. Despite that, it's held up pretty well. The oxidisation has added complexity. Like liquid christmas pud.

Surprisingly fresh is the cherry beer. An underlying sourness that would spoil most styles. Really quite drinkable.

Most are moving on to the Mad Dwarf Biergarden. I'm moving on to my bed. A Berazilian judges asks if I want to share his Uber. That's spared me some sweaty walking. And will get me in bed earlier.

A little cachaca smoothes the rocky path to sleep.



My accommodation most of my food and some beer were paid for by Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas Blumenau. All travelling expenses I paid myself.