Festival talk

I have some weird dreams. I’m being chased by a bunch of neo-Nazi thugs. Not sure why, but they seem very angry. I awake with a vague feeling of unease.

I hit the breakfast room at 9:00. Where I eat the same as every other day. Jos soon joins me.

Only a handful of judges are around. Even fewer than yesterday. I suppose everyone is gradually drifting off home.

Annoyingly both the coffee and milk run out well before 10:00. I try getting a cappuccino from the machine. It’s unbearably sweet. I only take a single sip.

I’ve not much planned today. Other than the talk I’m giving later. That will only take an hour. Oh, and I also want to use the 15 real voucher for E-10. That doesn’t open until 15:00. In the meantime, I laze around in my room, occasionally sipping on cachaça.

Packing, too. I bought more cachaças than was wise when roaming the countryside a few days back. Now I’m wondering if they will all fit in my bag. Sadly, I conclude that four, at most, can be squeezed in.

Heavy of heart, I sacrifice the Dupipe silver. It’s very full flavoured for a spirit with no age on it.

I just about force the four bottles into my check-in bag. Hoping they were protected enough for their long journey.

It’s been raining most of the day. Raining most of the last few days. Not torrential, but a steady stream. And when it hasn’t been raining, it’s been overcast. Which has kept the temperature fair more bearable.

It’s getting on for four when I trail down E-10. It’s raining. Nothing crazy. I don’t mind getting a little wet. Half a dozen blokes are standing around outside.

What should I do with my 30 reals? It’ll get me about 200 ml of beer, depending on the strength. I start with a Van Dutch Double IPA. It’s full of citrussy goodness.

I sit outside under cover and watch as the rain thickens. The harder it falls, the more quickly people scurry past.

My next choice is an Imperial Stout. To get me in the mood for this evening. It’s not bad in a roasty sort of way.

It’s not yet 17:00 yet. Too early to go to the festival. So I load up another 30 reals and indulge in some more Double IPA. Then some more Imperial Stout.

The rain has picked up the pace even more. A bit like me when closing time is approaching. As my planned departure time ticks around, it’s streaming like from a busted watermain. Which is having an impact on Uber availability.

I have to wait quite a while for one. Once I’ve clambered in, the Uber isn’t getting anywhere in a rush, The traffic is abysmal. We crawl along, surrounded by cars and rain. I thought I’d left plenty of time to get there before my talk. I’m not so sure now.

It’s 18:45 when I get to Vila Germanica. Just about enough time to pick up an Imperial Stout. Solely for mouth hydration purposes. Wouldn’t want a dry throat while I’m speaking.

The speaker before me hasn’t finished yet. Leaving me some time to chill.

It’s not a huge crowd for me: 15-20. I rattle through the presentation pretty quickly. With a few excursions on tangents every now and again. The slides are just there to prompt me. The talk itself is different every time. Other than the many numbers. They always remain the same.

After chatting to a couple of the judges, I’m in search of beer. Tres Santas is very close by. I go there for a Double IPA. A style I’ve come to quite like. Possibly because it’s difficult to fuck up. The alcohol content may also play a part.

While It’s being poured, someone, presumably the owner, rushed up and tells the server to give it to me for free. Seems he’s a fan. We chat for a little, though it’s restricted by his limited English.

I start chatting with Shweeta and a German judge, while polishing off my beer. But before I can finish it, I’m grabbed by my arm and dragged over to another stand. Aqua do Monge. It’s the owner who’s just abducted me.

He’s dragged me over because one of his servers speaks much better English than he does. Enthusiastically, he shows me a photo of the front cover of my “proper” book on his phone.

“Do you like cachaça?”

“Ooh, yes.”

“It’s six years old.” He says, pouring me a generous shot.

It’s very nice. As is his Wee Heayy

After pouring me a few more of his beers, he asks “What are your favourite beer styles?”

“Quadrupel, Imperial Stout, Double IPA.” Those are the ones I’ve been drinking most over here.

Taking me aby the arm, he leads me to the stalls where they have what he considers the best examples. Leopoldina for Quardrupel, Karsten, Lassbier, Tres Torres. It all gets rather blurry after a while. Especially given the ABV of the styles I chose.

I bump into Fe and we chat a while. I wonder how much sense I’m making, The beers aren’t so much catching up with me as racing past me. 

Another one of those aged cachaças perhaps isn’t the best idea. What the hell? I’m on holiday.

I can’t stay too late. Need to be up at 6:15 tomorrow. I’ve an Uber booked for 7:30 to take me to Navegantes airport. And I want to eat breakfast.

A day is called at 10:30. I say my goodbyes

Dupipe directs me into dreams of tropical gardens.