Ipanema

I rise at 8:30. And go down for breakfast almost immediately.

Same drill as always. Bacon and scrambled egg for main. Fruit for pudding. A perfectly balanced meal. Along with orange juice and lots of coffee. I’m such a healthy bastard.

After berkkie, I wander down to the supermarket for a few bits and bobs.  Mostly drinks. It’s so handy having a supermarket just 100 metres away. One of the reasons I chose to return to this hotel.

I want to take advantage of my roaming data. Did I mention that I always get data while I’m away? In this case, a local sim. Though not one bought in Brazil, as you need a Brazilian id for that. I bought one over the net that isn’t Brazilian but has data for Brazil. Don’t ask me how that works.

I head to the beach, just to send a photo to annoy Mikey. No plans to sit on the beach. But it’s so tempting, I do anyway.

“A large caipirinha, please.”

“700 mil?”

“Why not?”

Perhaps the drinks help lure me into lingering. And the prices. 30 reals is a steal for a cocktail that size. Especially on a beach as beautiful as this. 

I settle myself in a chair under an umbrella. But I notice my knees are in the sun. Dangerous. Since I didn’t bother with sunscreen, not having intended sitting on the beach. Last year I was caught by the sun even though I kept to the shade all the time. Just from the sun reflecting off the white sand.

A middle-aged bloke asks me to keep an eye on his bag while he has a dip in the sea. Turns out he’s Argentinian. Just like the empanadas they come round selling.

It’s not that busy. Far fewer people are around than last year. Is Wednesday a quiet day? There are fewer vendors, too. Only the occasional empanada or beer pusher. The cigarette seller escalates very quickly this time, going straight to coke.

“Er, no thanks.” My monster caipirinha will do me.

Having data, I fiddle on my phone a bit to show off where I am. Just like annoying young people. Except that I’m by myself. Mostly, I just soak up the joy. Of doing nothing. Other than occasionally sipping on my cocktail.

I only stay for the one. Which is quite a lot of alcohol. I don’t want to get burnt. Or ripped off my tits. Not yet, at least.

On the way back I drop by the supermarket. Where I get a couple of rolls, ham and sausage for my lunch. A rather late lunch.

Which I eat back in my room. While watching the Rugby League World Club Championship. I taped it on Saturday. Through the miracle of the internet, I can watch it here. Who would ever have thought that I’d one day watch Rugby League in Rio?

The plan is to head to a beer bar in Copacabana that opens at noon. But by the time I’ve finished pissing around in my room it’s almost 16:00. I decide to just go to Espaço 09, the beer place around the corner that opens at 17:00 instead.

I get to Espaço 09 at 17:10 and am told they’re not open yet. I just sit and wait for a while. I’ve learnt to be patient. I’m in no hurry, anyway. As long as I’ve got a seat, I don’t care.

They start serving about 17:30. When I order:

18 Do Forte Motim Rye IPA 6% ABV, 58 IBU, 34 real for 473 ml
Very citrussy, quite bitter, not bad.

I’m the only customer. For quite a while. Until a bloke about my age turns up. He doesn’t sit down. He’s just getting some draught beer as a carry out.

The kit at the back is still confusing me. I take a closer luck. The bits at the front might be serving tanks, but there does seem to be a full brewhouse behind it. And most of the beers on sale are 09 branded. Maybe they do really brew here.

As it darkens, people stream down the road returning from the beach. Many still in their beachwear. It isn’t the sort of weather that requires much clothing. I’ll be in shorts myself until I get back to Amsterdam. Count yourself lucky that you won’t have to gaze upon my shorted form. Not a pretty sight.

Not really fancying any of the other beers, I get myself another one of the same. There are two Stouts, but I’m not really feeling in a Stouty mood. Which is unusual. Even in the tropics.

More customers have shown up. A group of young expats from various nations. Students, maybe. Obviously, they converse in English. They get stuck into some food as well as beer.

The music starts – a bloke with an acoustic guitar playing cover versions. I don’t stay much longer. I’m just having a lazy time. And what better city than Rio to just lay back and do fuck all?

On the way back, I drop by the supermarket again for more of rolls. With the stuff I bought earlier, that will be my tea. Not being very hungry, it’s plenty.

There’s a queue for the tills. But the cashier beckons me to come forward. I suppose because I’m an oldie. Isn’t Brazil great?

After eating a couple of cheese rolls, I watch some internet stuff while sipping on whisky. My friend Tomatin shooing me to the nation of nod.



Espaço 09 - Coletivo Gastronômico Artesanal
R. Farme de Amoedo, 43
Ipanema,
Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22420-020.