Pub, pub

I rise really late. At 9:30. How I pity those doing Best of Show. They were picked up at 8.

What to have for breakfast? I know: scrambled egg and cheese. Followed by fruit. There’s a fruit juice called hog plum today. No idea what that is. It tastes quite nice, though.

A breakfast of scrambled egg, cheese,   juice and coffee.

After a while Herlinda joins me. She’s glad to have dodged judging the BOS, too. She tells me about judging the British Pie awards. I’m dead jealous.

After breakfast, I laze around in my room until checkout. When things get confusing.

Through Google Translate, the nice young woman on reception tells me that my driver is here. Which seems very early, as my fight isn’t for another 12 hours. I message Doug. Who tells me that I’m scheduled to e on a van at 19:30. Who the hell is the driver for?

The ruined church in Alagoinhas.

I plan going to the other hotel for lunch. Sharing an Uber with Herlinda. But before er head off, we learn that several judges are in Bar do Barbosa, a little place just down the road. And decide to walk there, instead. 

Bar do Barbosa with many drinkers sitting outside

It’s just 5 minutes away. Opposite the ruined church. There are already half a dozen judges there. Getting stuck into beer. We pull up chairs and join them.

I’m at one end and not totally in the shade. I try hard to keep the sun off my skin. As I have no sunscreen on.

After a while some of us move around the corner where there’s some shade. I feel like some cachaca and ask the waitress. She gives me some options. Pitu is the only name I catch. So I order that. It comes with a wedge of lemon.

I fancy a better cachaca and go inside to take a look at the bottles. I can’t really read any of them, unfortunately. The waitress passes me on to an older bloke. Who speaks pretty good English. He suggests Seleta. One aged in amburana barrels. Ooh, yes please.

“Tell me when to stop.” The old bloke says, as he starts pouring me a measure. I don’t say stop. The tumbler is almost full when he gives up.

“Stop, stop.” Charles shouts before his glass is one third full. The bloke takes a while to listen. The glass is still far emptier than mine.

Cachaca, caja and peanuts.

Joe comes around with boiled peanuts from a little stall across the road.  Later, it’s skewers of meat from another nearby stall. Quite spicy.

Kaja, sort of mini-mangos also come from the peanut woman. Very tasty. But mostly stone.

We decide to move on to Zé Café. Mostly in search of more food. Then walk to the awards ceremony from there. At least that’s the plan.

All the seating is outside. There’s nothing other than a bar counter inside.

Ze  Cafe with a waitress bringing drinks to customers seated outside.

I have some more Seleta. Some of the others have it in a caipirinha. Which I then also do. It is quite pleasant. As is the late afternoon sun beams down smiles.

We do get some food. I get barbecued cheese on a stick. Very tasty.

A caipirinha and beer outside Ze Cafe.

About 7 pm, we wander back for the awards ceremony. Not that I expect to see any of it. Our van is at 7:30. I get one of the leftover competition beers. To go with my takeaway caipirinha

I mentioned earlier that I wouldn’t mind some cachaca for the van ride. Someone has been to a supermarket and got two bottles of Seleta. Giving one to me and one to Charles. I check that mine’s OK by adding some to my caipirinha.

It’s getting on for eight when I drag Charles away to catch an Uber back to the other hotel. Where our luggage and van await.

We’re the last two of the five passengers. The ride is quite bumpy. And I get showered with cachaca a few times. It seems much quicker than the two hours it took on the way out.

As if by magic, the cachaca is just running out as we pull up at Salvador airport. Soon, my bag is checked in, I’m through security and following Charles up an escalator. Then bang. I’m flat on my back.

Charles has fallen over and onto me. My wrist has taken a knock. And hurts like fuck

“I think I’ve broken my wrist.” Fuck.

Charles seems perfectly fine. I suppose he had a soft landing.

I feel totally crap. My wrist really hurts when I make any movement. This going to be a fun journey home. Though not as bad as travelling back from Stuttgart with a broken ankle.

I’m surprised I get any sleep at all on the plane. The last 3 or 4 hours really drag. It’s hard to find a position where it doesn’t feel like hot needles are being pushed into my wrist. I’m happy when we get to Lisbon.

Changing isn’t too bad. The flight from Salvador arrived early. Leaving me in no rush. But not hanging around for hours, either. That doesn’t stop the throbbing pain in my wrist, though.

My flight to Amsterdam isn’t particularly comfortable. Not a total nightmare, either. I just want to get home. As soon as possible.

My bag doesn’t take too long to pop out. I manage to manoeuvre my bags onto a trolley and roll it out to a taxi.

Dolores is surprised when I appear at the door.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

No, today. Where’s my cup of tea?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back today.”

“No tea, then.”

“Let me take a look at your wrist.”

“Do you think it’s broken?”

“Can you move your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“Then it isn’t.””

“Are you sure? Because it really hurts.”

“That’s what the internet says.”

“Must be true, then. Tea?” *



Bar do Barbosa
244, R. Mf Alves, 236
Alagoinhas Velha, Alagoinhas
BA.


Bar Zé Café
Inocoop II
R. Dois, 387
Alagoinhas Velha, Alagoinhas
BA, 48030-310.

* My wrist was broken.

Disclaimer: my flights, hotels and most meals were paid for by the Brazilian International Beer Awards.