Back home

The twelfth day of the trip. Longer than I’m usually away. I’m feeling it when I drag my miserable carcass from under the sheet at 6:15.

Ablutions abluted, it’s time to fill my fat gut with coffee, scrambled egg, cheese and fruit. Exactly the same as every other day I’ve stayed in this hotel. I’m such a wacky bloke.

My driver rolls up a minute or two before the appointed time. We quickly rumble out of town, which hasn’t totally woken up yet. At least, the swarms of cars haven’t.

It’s still pretty damp. Out in the countryside, the pastures are sodden emerald. With only the occasional sad, seated cow and erratic palms to punctuate its emptiness. The hills, pumped full of trees, are mostly invisible, steaming with mist.

Weirdly unconvincing billboards pimping luxury developments often block the view. As do the roadside restaurants. Many, inevitably offering buffet. In a not particularly subtle way.

A little of the Dupipe was left over yesterday. Shame to waste it. And that diet cola. Time to make a travel drink. I wouldn’t want to dehydrate during the journey.

When it starts getting more urban, I realise we’re getting close to the airport. Small, low houses and workshops. And my special drink bottle runs dry. That’s good timing.

I’m soon checked in. I know there’s nothing really to do airside. I just find a seat by the gate and read Private Eye.

I get on as one of the first – thank you, Brazilian law – and the flight is on time. With the usual slightly scary landing, where the brakes are slammed on as soon as rubber hits the tarmac. That’s Congonhas for you. 

There’s only an hour between my flights. Congonhas, being no Guarulhos, is pretty compact. In no time, I’m at the gate.

I built a lot of wiggle room into today. I land in Rio at 13:05. My flight to Amsterdam is at 20:50. Bit of an overkill, I know. Price might have played a role, too. Though I do need to transfer from Rio’s domestic to its international airport. Already having booked a car, the transfer is a doddle.

It’s not even 14:00 when I get there. Far too early to check in. Waiting it is. Several hours of it. Getting to catch up on some of Private Eye backlog is my positive way of looking at it.

Once, eventually, checked in and airside, I remember what I hate about this airport: the endless walking. Even worse than Schiphol. And almost no travellators.

After some initial trouble linking to the wifi (I blame VPN), I settle in to watch some crap with nibbles and a few caipirinhas. A bit disappointed, I switch to whisky. They were the weakest caipirinhas I’ve tasted. Nothing like enough cachaça.

A bit before it’s time to leave the warm embrace of the lounge, a storm starts with flurry of flashes. Hope that’s over before takeoff.

They seem a little behind schedule in getting boarding going. Leaving my poor old legs standing around for 15 minutes.

I plan on a good kip. And sort of get it. I fall asleep during Next Goal Wins. I don’t get further when I restart, nodding off only a few minutes on.

It might not be my first impression, but I seem to have had a reasonable amount of sleep. Maybe five hours. Just very disturbed. I woke up lots of times. Just not for long.

We’re served a yellow rectangle of something they don’t bother to explain on a base of some red stuff. If anything, the visuals oversell the flavour. And they’ve promised fuck all. I don’t care. I just have to one mouthful. Which I regret. Coffee and orange juice will do me.

It seems a very long walk, considering we arrived on E pier. And the carousel for our luggage is the very far one.

The wait for the first bag isn’t too bad. It just takes a while for mine to come out.

A taxi soon leaves me opening my front door. Where Dolores has tea ready for me. She’s followed my flight on her computer. The wonders of modern technology.

 

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.
 

Festival!

I rise at 8:40, brush my teeth and descend for breakfast

There’s almost no-one there. I get my usual breakfast and after a little while Jos turns up and sits at my table.

“Do you know what time the festival starts today?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look it up.”

He can’t find the opening times. Oh well.

As it looks pretty cool outside, I go straight to the supermarket after breakfast. Despite it only being 25º C, I still feel pretty warm when I get there.

I pick up some stuff for lunch: rolls, cheese and salami. That should stop me from starving. And give me some ballast come festival time. Despite the relatively low temperature, I’m bathed in sweat by the time I get back to my room.

Looking at the festival website, I see that the festival opens at 17:00 for industry people and 19:00 for the general public. I guess us judges count as industry.

It’s going to be a fairly lazy day. Not much on, other than an appointment with Fe Brasciano at 13:30. Which then gets delayed until 15:00, in Bier Vila.

I get myself a Catharina Sour on arrival. I ask for “medio”, thinking that will get me the middle size. It actually gets me a half litre. I also get a caipirinha to keep it company.

After a while of chatting with Fe, Jos arrives and sits at our table. He gets himself some schnitzel strips. Which gets me thinking: maybe I should get some food. Nothing too big, mind. I look in the small meal section of the menu. They seem to have an odd concept of “small”. For example, a full-sized portion of fish and chips. I get deep-fried mash things. They’re quite pleasant and not too filling.

Fe goes off to pick up her accreditation, saying she’ll be back in a few minutes. Half an hour later and she hasn’t returned. As it’s already way past 17:00, Jos and I pay and leave. The hall is fairly empty.  Now how do we get a beer?

Payment, it seems, is by a card you charge up. Except the desk selling them isn’t open yet. Next to it is the Patanegra stand, where they’re still setting up, but are happy to serve us some beers for free. I get an American IPA, while Jos goes for a Session IPA. I’ve made the better choice. Mine is really rather nice. While his is oxidised.

Next I get an Imperial Stout, which is deeply roasty and packed with alcohol. My kind of beer.

I try a Double IPA next. I’m going for all the session stuff. By the time I’ve finished, a queue has formed at the till. Jos gets a card with 200 reals on it. Which allows me to use one of the few phrases I know in Portuguese:

“O mismo.”

We find ourselves some seats and look around for beer. Being a lazy git, I opt for the closest stand. Which in Alcapone. Wanting to stick to the session stuff, I ask for a Barley Wine.

When I’ve sat down again, someone from the Alcapone stand comes up and talks to me. At first, I think, are they asking if I’ve paid. What they really want to know is what I think of it, as it’s their first attempt at a Barley Wine. I haven’t actually tried it yet. It’s maltily rich, balanced with a decent hop bitterness.

“It’s very nice. With the right balance of sweet malt and bitterness for the style.”

They seem pretty chuffed at my answer.

When the band starts up it gets too loud to have a comfortable conversation. I hate overly loud music at beer festivals. I can’t understand why anyone likes it. Don’t they want to converse with their companions? We decant to the next hall. It doesn’t have any beer stands, just other things like coffee. But the noise level is way lower.

I discuss Brexit with Jos. Well, mostly shout and froth at the mouth. It’s that time of day. After several caipirinhas and strong beers.

“I haven’t used any of the money on my card yet.” I tell Jos.

“I‘ve starting paying.  I don’t want to freeload.” Jos replies.

“I’d normally charge for the talk I’m giving tomorrow. More than the cost of a few beers.”

I have a few more beers from Alcapone. More low-alcohol stuff: an Imperial Stout, a Double IPA and another Barley Wine, just to check if it’s still OK.

“Do you want a full measure?” the man serving asks.

“Yes, please.”

I bail out a little before ten. I don’t want to go to bed too late.

On the way out there are some cachaça stands. Including Wylaardt. The owner is there. I go up and shake his hand and tell him how much I loved his 18-year-old. I’m not sure he totally understands, but maybe my smiles and thumbs up give him an inkling.

I get an Uber in a couple of minutes. One of the advantages of leaving early. I’ve only had beers from two breweries. That works for me. No way I can get around them all anyway. I’m happy to stick with a brewery whose beers are good.

I sort of regret getting the card and putting 200 reals on it, as I’ve spent nothing. The Alcapone people seem to have liked my comments and are happy to give me full measures for free. Their beers are really good. I wasn’t bullshitting.

Back in my room, a cachaça nightcap soon has me stumbling down the stairs to sleep.



Choperia Bier Vila
R. Alberto Stein, 199
Sala 100
Velha, Blumenau
SC, 89036-900.
https://www.biervila.com.br/

Awards!

I rise at 8:30. Not exactly feeling totally refreshed.

Downstairs, it’s the same breakfast as always. I sit with Jos Brouwer.

It’s much quieter today, as many of the judges have either left or moved to a cheaper hotel. I only recognise a handful of faces.

I’ve arranged to meet Rafael for lunch. We’re meeting at 13:00 in the lobby. Which leaves me three hours or so to laze around the room. I can do with a bit of leisure time. And the opportunity to write up yesterday’s fun.

Down in the lobby there are quite a few judges, including Thomas Sjoberg and Shweta. They’re going to Xanadu, which they missed out on yesterday as it was closed. They disappear off in an Uber, while Rafael picks up me and Jos.

When we get to Beer Vila there’s a band playing German music. Rather loudly. So loud, that just after getting our beers, we move to further away so it’s easier to chat.

I kick off with an Enigma Gororoba, a Catherina Sour with passion fruit, amongst others. It’s very pink. Including the head. It’s OK, but as good as the one I had the other day. I get a caipirinha to go with it.

“Do you want to share some snacks?” Jos asks.

“Sure.”

We get some polenta fries. Basically, polenta cut into chip shapes and deep fried. Quite nice. And not too heavy.

My next beer is Das Bier Morango & Maracuja. Another Catharine Sour with passion fruit. It’s not as pink and rather tastier than the last one. I wash it down with a caipirinha again.

The band has finished playing when the judges who’ve been to Xanadu show up. As we’re only on a four-seater table, we move back into the main part of the room.

Being a bit soured out, I plump next for a Dogma Hop Machina, an American Double IPA. It’s not bad in a citrussy and alcoholic way (it’s 8.5% ABV). Along with another caipirinha.

Various food is ordered. Though not by me. I don’t think I’m ready for food yet. Later, maybe.

The next band turns up. Judging by the long hair and leather, I’m guessing it’s a more rocky outfit. Which turns out to be true. Though, weirdly, they’re quite a bit quieter than the Schlager bunch. They play covers of rock classics.

The drummer really annoys me. He keeps just missing the beat whenever he does a frill. When they start playing Smoke on the Water, I listen carefully to the bass part. I’ve always found the guitar riff a bit lame. The bass riff on the original recording is way better. Sadly, that’s not what the bassist plays.

Time for more beer. I turn to the dark side with Invicta Black Cat, a Black IPA. It’s very dark. And quite roasty. Closer to a Stout than an IPA. But it tastes OK, so I don’t care. I also get a caipirinha to keep it company.

It’s getting late in the afternoon and some of the group go back to the hotel. While I finally order some food – a rosti filled with mince and cheese. It’s nice, but very rich and filling. I don’t manage to finish it off.

Four of us decide to go straight to the awards ceremony, sharing an Uber. The event was scheduled to start at 19:00 and we turn up half an hour or so later. There’s a big queue outside which we push past. Inside it’s still fairly quiet.

They’re serving the leftovers from the competition. Which means it’s a total lottery as to the quality of the beer. I have a rather oxidised Vienna Lager.

There are no seats. Not a single one. The best me and Jos can do is to sit on one of the speakers next to the stage. After a while, one of the organisation team approaches us. I think she’s going to tell us to not sit there. Instead, she invites us to the VIP room at the back.

Where they have seats. Well, stools, but it’s a lot better than nothing. And they’re serving Leopoldina Grape Ale. A waiter comes around with trays of canapés. This is so much more civilised.

At 20:15, there’s no sign of the ceremony beginning. I feel pretty tired. And it’s obvious that it will be hours before we’re done. I start to ask myself some pretty basic questions. Why am I here? What am I going to get out of this? Why don’t I fuck off back to the hotel?

The reality is this: I’d rather be lying on my hotel bed watching crap TV.

I say goodbye to Jos and make my way through the main hall. Which is getting pretty packed. Outside cars keep pulling up as people are still arriving.

I get an Uber in a couple of minutes. This is the main reason I bought a data sim: so I could escape from events without the need for wifi.

It’s quite a drive back. Twenty minutes or so.

My room is still quite cool. Because they didn’t leave my windows open today. The last couple of days it’s only been in the low to mid 20s. Still incredibly humid, but much more bearable.

Tonight, it’s Dupipe silver cachaça driving me to sleep.

After a couple of hours in bed I wake up feeling quite chilly. After the best part of a week, the airco has finally got down to the 17 C it’s set to. I turn it up to 20 C so I can sleep.



Choperia Bier Vila
R. Alberto Stein, 199
Sala 100
Velha, Blumenau
SC, 89036-900.
https://www.biervila.com.br/

More cachaça!

We continue on to another cachaçaria, Wruck. Which is on a much more industrial scale. Though it’s still a family business. The nice young man who shows us around tells us that his father, uncle and sister all work here.

The still is much more high-tech than the one at Dupipe. I doubt very much that they built this one themselves. It’s all gleaming copper and stainless steel.

I’m a bit baffled by some of the equipment. The fermenters are easy to grasp. Not so much another bunch of other stainless-steel vessels that look a bit like a brewhouse. But not quite. I think they might be something to do with molasses.

At the back of the distillery building logs of wood are piled up. Presumably to be used to fire the impressive-looking boiler.

We try a couple of the cachaças. The older one is rich, dark and very smooth. Really rather nice. So nice, in fact, that I buy a bottle.

Just a little down the road is our next stop, Bylaardt. I’ve been here before. Though I’m happy to visit again, as the cachaças were dead good. The owner shows us around.

Just like last time, they’re fermenting. The smell smacks you in the face as soon as you enter the room. Fermentation takes about 30 hours, hitting a maximum temperature of 34º C. They’re also distilling, with the still hissing scarily. You can see the raw spirit trickling from the condenser. Like the other two distilleries we’ve been to today, it’s wood fuelled.

There are some large stainless-steel vessels out in the open. With next to them a shed housing a couple of barrel rooms. The first has relatively new barrels. The second somewhat older ones and the third three large vats of 2,500 litres.

“Do you want to sample some now?” the owner asks. Er, yes please.

He starts by pouring us an 18-year-old from a small wooden cask. It’s absolutely incredible. The long time in oak has left it with a deep amber colour and an enticing vanilla aroma. In the mouth it’s fruity and rounded, with a massive depth of flavour. It’s fantastic stuff. One of the best cachaças I’ve tried.

Once again, it’s a proper measure. We have a couple more samples, including an anburana-aged cachaça. It was on my last visit that I first encountered this incredibly spicy wood. And I’m a fan. As long as it’s used carefully. Too much and you’re fucked, flavour-wise.

There’s a selection of small casks of different shapes, up to 20 litres in size. Some are of fresh oak, some of recycled oak from larger barrels and some from fresh amburana. If only I weren’t travelling by plane, I’d be seriously tempted to buy one, as a 10-litre barrel is just 150 euros.

“Would you like any more samples?” the owner asks. Of course I fucking do. He pours me another full measure of the 18-year-old. It’s really knocking my socks off. It’s up there with a really, really good single malt.

We reluctantly leave, with me feeling a little lightheaded from the generous samples.

The countryside is just as extravagant on our return journey. A heterogenous horde of trees occupy the hillsides, popping every shade of green. And the flowers. Not just in the neat gardens of occasional houses. No, they erupt from every crack between their big brother trees. Flamboyantly refusing to be bullied.

It’s been a brilliant trip.

And it isn’t over yet. As we enter the outskirts of Blumenau, Rafael asks me if I’d like to visit a German-style beer garden called Norden for some food. Definitely, as I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

The garden is around one of the oldest houses in Blumenau. And which housed the city’s first brewery, back in the 19th century.

Walking through the house, it’s decked out in totally German style. Even the signs are all in German as well as Portuguese.

We get a Metzgerplatte to share. As the name implies, it’s several kinds of meat. Including some yummy bacon. Just what I’ve been missing. I wash it down with an IPA, while the others have Paulaner Oktoberfest.

As it’s pretty early, there aren’t that many other punters when we arrive. It starts filling up and a German band, consisting of an accordionist and a bassist, start playing typical German pub tunes.

When we leave, it’s getting on for 21:00. The Policia Militar are up to something in the car park. It’s the first time I’ve seen them do anything other than score free food in pubs.

Back in my room, I watch Match of the Day 2. And some other crap on Ziggo. I don’t stay up too late. It’s been a tiring, but wonderful, day.

It’s the mandarin liqueur that takes my hand and leads me to sleep today.



Cachaçaria Wruck
Rua: Ver.Otto Wruck, 2485
Francês, Luiz Alves
SC, 89128-000.
https://cachacawruck.com.br/


Alambique Bylaardt
Rua Prefeito Wilibaldo Van Den Bylaardt, 6349,
Braço Serafim, Luiz Alves
SC, 89128-000.
http://www.cachacasbylaardt.com.br/


Norden Bar e Restaurante
R. Xavantina, 100
Boa Vista, Blumenau
SC, 89030-002.
 

Cachaça!

I rise a little after nine. Heading downstairs for breakfast soon after.

I join Alex at a table. Not long after, Jos Brouwer sits with us. Chris arrives a little later, but can’t stay long as he’s being given a lift to Florianopolis. I have my usual breakfast.

A group of judges are planning to go to the Xanadu distillery, meeting at 13:30 in reception. Until then, I hang around in my room doing some writing and other stuff. I’m down in reception at 13:20. Where there aren’t many people about, only a couple of Brazilian judges.

After a while Rafael Santos comes up and says that the others went for lunch, but should be coming back. The minutes tick by. When it gets to 14:00, Rafael, who has a car, suggests that we go to some other cachaçarias north of the city. I don’t take much persuading, as I’ve already been to Xanadu twice.

Another Brazilian judge accompanies us. Having Portuguese speakers with me will be handy, if past brewery and distillery visits are anything to go by. Google Translate could only partially come to the rescue.

The weather is much more pleasant today. It looks like it rained all night and it’s still pretty overcast. It’s only in the low 20s. The coolest I’ve ever experienced it here.

Streaming past us are pastures, paddy fields and the occasional stand of sugar cane, backed by steep, wooded hills, alive with dozens of shades of green. The gardens of the rare houses bursting with brightly-coloured tropical flowers. It’s very different from Holland.

Our first stop is Dupipe. We enter via a narrow and, at times, steep track. We struggle to get up one section. Good job we’re in a four-wheel drive. At the end, several dogs run out barking to greet us. Where the hell is the distillery?

A man of about my age appears. It’s the owner. We’re in a stunning tropical garden where exotic flowers erupt from between all types of mature trees. Fish ponds on different levels punctuate the garden It’s ridiculously idyllic.

The owner throws some food into one of the ponds so we can see the fish, which are surprisingly large. Then points to a toucan perching in one of the trees. It seems a million miles away from Blumenau.

The distillery is in a shed. Above the door there’s a sign saying that it’s not allowed to enter drunk, but it is to leave.

Inside, there’s a small space with rows of bottles and larger jugs. In a connecting room, there’s the still, which the owner made himself. It’s rather, er, rustic. In the next room there’s a row if huge glass jars, where he’s making liqueurs from whole fruit. Including the strange pink bananas he showed us earlier in his garden.

Finally, we get to the barrel room. The barrels are furry with black mould. And bats flutter around under the eaves when we disturb them. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

The tour doesn’t take long. Then the sampling begins. First the silver and gold straight cachaças. They’re both very good. And the measures the size of a full measure. But the liqueurs are the true revelation. 

The standouts being the banana and the ginger. I’ve never experienced anything like the latter. It’s bursting with the flavour of fresh ginger: citrusy and with a tongue-tingling spiciness. Wow. Looking at the ginger to cachaça ratio in the big glass jar, it’s no surprise that it’s so intense.

I buy bottles of the two straight cachaças and the ginger liqueur. You won’t find them anywhere else as he doesn’t distribute.

Our next stop is a roadside smokehouse. Where we sample two different types of pork scratchings, one quite soft and the other much harder. I buy a bag of the latter. And a sausage.

Cachaça Dupipe
Rua Bonifácio Haendchen, 7999
Belchior Alto, Gaspar
SC, 89117-870.
http://cachacadupipe.epizy.com


 

Judging ends

I rise at 7:30 and eat some fruit in an attempt to not puke up this morning.

I breakfast with Thomas. It’s the usual: scrambled egg and cheese, followed by fruit. It’s a bit of a rush as I was quite late getting down.

My judging companions are both Brazilian:

Julio Rangel de Freitas Barbosa. (With whom I’ve judged with him before.)
Felipe Baptista.

We commence with Dutch-style Koyt. 4 examples. Two quite bland, one sour other has DMS.

English Pale Mild. 2 examples. One gets a bronze. The other had off flavours.

Historical beer. 9 examples. 3 Lichtenhainer, 3 Rothbier, 1 Bernadynskie, Russian Stout, Doppelsticke, Sahti.

I take the Sahti over to Thomas for him to try. As, being Finnish, he understands the style far better than me.

The Russian Stout says that it’s inspired by Kernel 1856 Imperial Stout. I know that beer. It’s a recreation of Barclay Perkins IBSt. Not my recipe, but one from the Durden Park Beer Circle. As I have my spreadsheets on my laptop, I can look up what the grist should be.

“It should have a really high percentage of roasted malts – something like 38% in total.”

Does this beer have that much? Probably not. Though it does just say “inspired by”. I’m not going to hold a lack of roast against the beer.

Wee Heavy mini-BOS. 11 examples. Some pretty good ones, others are too sweet. As in, really fucking sweet.

Old Ale mini-BOS. 10 examples. Not a bad set. Including one of my favourite beers so far. Which gets a gold.

While we’re judging Doug drops by and asks me to stay for the BOS. Damn. I’d hoped to disappear before he asked. There’s a fair bit of a wait before things kick off. What a surprise.

I go and have a quick look at the barbecue outside. It looks dead impressive. Two long lines of wood are laid out on the ground with lumps of meat hanging between them. My mouth is watering already. I send a photo of it to the kids. Just to annoy them.

I’m on a mini-BOS table with Alex Barlow and Eduardo Pelizzon. Which is a good combination. We get 14 beers, all English styles. The process is thankfully painless. One beer comes out a clear winner, being my favourite and the second favourite of the other two.

And then I’m free, as I’m not on the final BOS panel. I head back outside and chat to Chris while watching the meat roast. Then it starts to rain. A little at first, then becoming more tropical. So heavy that they erect a roof over the barbecue. It’s very high tech: just sheets of corrugated iron.

When the rain gets really bad, we all tip inside. Where they’re hacking apart big chunks of meat. I get some beef and some pork. The beef is a bit chewy, but the pork is yummy. Especially the crackling. There’s not much else on offer, other than meat, save for bits of lettuce and potato salad.

After eating, me and Chris go to see if a bus will be leaving for the hotel. It seems not. Doug tells Chris that the buses will leave at 20:00 and 22:00. It’s currently 18:45. We decide to get an Uber back to the hotel, then drop by E-10. As neither of us has used the 15 real voucher we were given for it.

When we get to E-10, they’re doing maintenance. Chris complains to the spectacularly bearded owner that he hasn’t had chance to use his voucher. So the owner orders an Uber for us and gives Chris 15 reals to pay for it, as the driver only takes cash.

We’re headed for Bier Vila, where some other judges will be. Soon we’re sitting at a table with a bunch of South Americans: Nicolas (Argentina), Jary and Claudia (Uruguay), a bloke from Paraguay and Marcus from Germany.

“I need something to get my dinner down. Let’s get a cachaça.” Chris suggests.

I don’t need asking twice. But I also get a Das Bier Morango e Maracuja, a Catharina Sour, to accompany it. The cachaça is from Xanadu, so it’s pretty good. As is the passion fruit Catharina sour.

The talk turns to football, which is pretty entertaining. Especially when Maradonna and David Beckham become topics. But it’s all very good natured.

“We don’t hate the Brits in Argentina.” Nicolas tells me. Good to know as I plan going there sometime soon.

At 21:50 me and Chris head to the liqueur shop around the corner that we saw on the way in. It closes at 22:00.

The nice young lady serving there gives us various ones to try. Most are far too sweet for me. But a mandarin one – made with only the peel – is really tasty and not too sweet. I get a bottle.

We have one more cachaça. And leave it at that as we’re both knacked. Soon we’re in an Uber and hotel bound.

Back in my room, I sip on Ypioca while watching Match of the Day from Saturday on my flipflap. No need to rush to bed today, there not being an early start tomorrow. I’ll be meeting Chris at 9:30 for breakfast, before he heads off to Florianopolis.

That spirit, whatever it is, eases me down the road to the blessed oblivion of sleep.




Choperia Bier Vila
R. Alberto Stein, 199
Sala 100
Velha, Blumenau
SC, 89036-900.
https://www.biervila.com.br/

Judging continues

I rise at 7:15, throw up and have a shower. Not at the same time, obviously.

I bump into Chris at breakfast.

“Where were you yesterday? Why weren’t you at the barbecue?” He asks.

“What barbecue?” It seems it was for European Beer Star judges so I didn’t get invited. That’s why almost no-one I knew was at Thapyoka. The bastards.

I have my standard breakfast: scrambled egg and cheese, followed by fruit. Lots of fruit. And quite a lot of coffee. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep at the judging table.

At least the bus is a little later, at 8:30.

Thomas joins us for breakfast. I sit next to him on the bus and we chat about beer history.

It’s 9:30 when we start judging. Not too late. Today my partners are:

Jary Rocha – Uruguay.
Nicolás Boan - Argentina.

We start with Franconian Rothbier. 5 examples. 1 pretty good, another one OK.

Hefeweizen. 12 samples. Best set so far. Almost no off flavours and a couple of really quite good ones.

Session IPA. 12 examples. Mostly OK to good.

We’ve been rumbling along at a good pace and are ready for lunch just after noon.

I have lunch with Chris and some other South Americans. As always, just meat and salad. I would say it’s because I’m very careful with my diet. In reality, I’m just not very hungry.

The organisers are getting really worries about the toilets. About them getting blocked with toilet paper. Which you aren’t supposed to put in the toilet here in Brazil.  Worrying that foreign judges might forget, the toilet cubicles are plastered with warnings.

After lunch, we begin with West Coast IPA. 8 examples. All are reasonably good and one totally outstanding, packed with complex tropical fruit flavours.

Wood- and Barrel-Aged Sour Beer. 4 examples. A mixed bunch.

American IPA midround. 12 examples. Several have obvious faults, including diacetyl and DMS.

Irish Red midround. 10 examples. I’ve nothing good to say about these. So I’ll keep quiet.

Brazilian wood aged beers midround. 8 examples. Lots of amburana – some very intense. One aged in amburana cachaça barrels is way over the top. Far too much of everything. Most base beers are Barley Wine, Quad or Imperial Stout. But the best was a Catharina Sour.

We finish off at about 17:30. Which isn’t too bad. Though I judged 71 beers. I never want to drink beer again. That’s how I feel at the moment. It’s been an exhausting day.

How can you be knackered when all you’ve done is drink beer all day? Judging is very tiring. If you take it seriously. Which I do as did everyone I’ve judged with. And there‘s precious little drinking involved. Though I do usually finish off any good beers. Just to be polite.

I sit next to Chris on the bus.

I debated about whether to go to Schornstein in Pomeroda for dinner. I’ve been there a couple of times before. And it’s 22 km outside Blumenau, meaning I can’t just get an Uber back if I’m feeling knacked. But Chris persuades me to go. His enthusiasm can be infectious.

Luckily, the first bus leaves before the scheduled 18:30.

Chris, Thomas, Alex, Shweta, the Norwegian bloke and I all sit at one table. Most go to look at the brew house. I give it a miss. I’ve been there twice before. Both times I thought I was going to die of heat stroke and had to leave.

When the buffet is laid out and we collect food, Chris suggests sitting on the terrace. Where it’s now much cooler as it’s pissing down with rain. I go for a meat and salad combination again. Some of the meat is really good. Though I had hoped for feijoada like last time. I do like some black beans.

The beer is OK. I have s Pils and then a couple of IPAs. But that’s enough beer for me, so I get a caipirinha. Which I have to pay for. It’s well worth 24 reals.

Chris gets himself a Bock and lets me try it. It’s pleasantly thick and chewy. But very cold. A little later, when it’s warmed up, I can smell the diacetyl from across the room. It’s clearly totally undrinkable.

We’re told that the first bus will leave when 40 people are ready. Which is cool. It leaves at 21:45 rather than 22:00. So we’re back in Blumenau by 22:15. Which is great. I can get to my bed early. Except Chris suggests we have a nightcap over the road. And he can be a very persuasive man.

We end up in Curt, a wine bar, as everything else is shut. We get a cachaça each. One aged in amburana. Which ties in nicely with some of the beers I judged a few hours earlier.

Several other judges turn up after a while. And get stuck into cocktails. Me and Chris only have the one, as we’re both feeling pretty tired.

I fancy another drink, but can’t unseal the cachaça bottle I have. It’s a problem I’ve experienced before. And I know the solution. I go down to reception, where they manage to unscrew the top for me.

I watch some more Boarders on iplayer while sipping my cachaça. Which soon gets me in a sleepytime mood.



Schornstein Kneipe
R. Hermann Weege, 60
Centro, Pomerode
SC, 89107-000.


Curt Wine & Bar
R. Curt Hering, 99
Centro, Blumenau
SC, 89010-040.

Judging begins

The bus is at 8:00. So I rise a little before 7:00. I could have done with another couple of hours kip. But isn’t that almost always the case?

I have breakfast with Alex. There’s no bacon, so I go for scrambled egg and cheese. Plus some fruit for pudding. I don’t eat a huge amount. Not feeling that hungry.

As Alex worked for Bass Charrington, the conversation turns to Runcorn. Which Alex helped shut down. I’m weirdly obsessed by the brewery. Alex tells me that not only was the packaging plant miles away from the brewhouse, it was also downhill. Such a great design.

There’s a bit of messing around to start. Like logging onto the wifi. Meaning it’s a while before we get our first flight. But it’s not too much of a delay. I’ve experienced much worse.

My fellow judges are:

Claudia Di Battista Morin – Uruguay.
Gean Carlo Vila Lobos – Brazil.

We start with Bohemian Pilsner. There are a couple of quite good ones but also some real stinkers. Plenty of DMS and oxidation kicking around. 12 samples.

Vienna Lager next. None that I really liked. A couple are just about OK. 12 samples.

I have lunch with Alex, too. Just a bit of beef and salad, as I’m still not that hungry. I studiously avoid the multiple carbs on offer. Unlike the Brazilians, who pile three or four of them onto their plate.

We kick off the afternoon with European Dark Lager. The first two beers lull me into a false sense of security. Most of the beers that follow are awful. A couple make me gag, they’re so unpleasant. 12 samples.

Munich Dunkel. I didn’t really like any of them. 7 samples.

English Pale Ale. A few quite nice ones.  7 samples.

English Brown Ale. Some real stinkers.  7 samples.

I have a look at the style guidelines for English Brown Ale. 4.2% to 6% ABV, they say. I explain to my fellow judges that, apart from Newcastle Brown and Vaux Double Maxim, there are no examples that fall into that strength range. And that most are around 3% ABV. The handful of Brown Ales that are still brewed.

I’m not sure they totally believe me, as Gean Carlo looks up Manns Brown Ale on the internet. He looks quite surprised when he discovers that it’s just 2.8% ABV.

It’s 17:45 by the time we’re done. By which time I’m totally done. Plenty of other tables are still in full swing. The bus to Thapyoka is at 18:30. Supposedly. I chat with a Norwegian judge while we wait. It’s well after 19:00 when the bus finally leaves.

I sit at a table, expecting some people I know to show up. None do. Eventually, Eduardo Pelizzon, a jolly Brazilian comes over:

“Are you sitting by yourself? Join us on our table.” Where he gives me some Catharina Sour. Which is good, as I remember the draught beer here being crap. While the Catharina Sour is pretty good.

The second bus hasn’t arrived and they haven’t even put the buffet out. Looks like we won’t be eating until 20:30, at the earliest. So we decide to share an Uber and eat elsewhere. I really don’t want another late night.

I decide that I’ve enough food in my room. I’ve a roll left over from yesterday and some cheese and salami. That’ll do me. Along with whatever that spirit is I got in the supermarket – 51. I only bought it because it was dead cheap. In typical Brazilian fashion, it comes in a weird size bottle: 965 ml.

This is great. I’ve got a few hours to relax. I watch some stuff on my flipflop. Internet Today then, after firing up the VPN, Boarders from the BBC iplayer. I’m really happy to get a couple of hours to myself. Lazing around doing nothing. Much more fun than whatever might be happening in Thapyoka.

I don’t stay up too late. Propelled into sleep by whatever that spirit Ypioca is.



Choperia e Restaurante Thapyoka
R. XV de Novembro, 160
Centro, Blumenau
SC, 89010-001.
https://thapyoka.com.br/

Off to judge

A 7:00 AM start today, as my flight is at 10:00. I have my usual breakfast. It being earlier, the breakfast room is much emptier. As it will be quite a complicated journey, I eat some extra fruit.

After eating, I quickly pack and go downstairs to check out. Before you know it, I’m rocking and rolling through Rio in an Uber.

Check in is a doddle. And soon I’m sitting at the same bar as last time, sipping a caipirinha. It’s not far to my gate, thankfully. Where quite a few people are hanging around. Departure time comes and goes with no sign of boarding. Great. My connection in Sao Paolo is quite short.

We eventually board about 30 minutes late. The flight is pretty short. Before we land, there’s an announcement in Portuguese that mentions Navegantes. Are they talking about the connection?

Landing is pretty scary again. As soon as we hit the tarmac, the pilot jams on the brakes. It’s a pretty short runway.

Once off the plane, I look for the gate of my connecting flight. It’s the same one I just arrived at. No need to worry about missing the connection, as it’s the same plane. When we get back on, I notice some people never got off. That must have been what the announcement was about.

Another short flight has me in Navegantes. Where my bag soon rolls onto the carousel. Just a few metres away, my driver is waiting for me. In a couple of minutes we’re boinging down the highway. That was fairly painless.

The scenery around is as lush as ever as we race inland. Towering clouds billow above the hills. Flat, fecund fields spreading between them. Very impressive. Despite this, I start to doze during the hour so it takes to get to Blumenau.

After checking in, I head down the road to the supermarket. Man, it’s hot. Too hot for me. Much worse than Rio. I’m covered in sweat by the time I get to the shop. Where I stock up on provisions. I need some food, as I haven’t eaten since my early breakfast.

When I get back to my room, I’m covered in sweat. Time for a shower. After fiddling around for a while, I only seem to get cold water. A quick cold shower it is, then. I’m so hot I don’t actually mind.

There’s time to recover a little before the dinner in the evening. So that’s what I do. Watching some crap on my computer.

I wander downstairs at 18:50. 10 minutes before the bus is due to leave. I bump into Chris Flaskamp and we have a bit of a chat.

At the evening’s venue, Restaurante Moinho do Vale, we sit at a table together. Along with Alex Barlow and Thomas Sjoberg. And a German hop grower and his wife. A good group.

A quick look at the beer list tells me one thing. As I remember the beers from last year. That Quadrupel will come in a 75cl bottle. So that’s what I order. It’ll save lots of pissing around.

There’s a cold buffet to start. And rollmops, if your stomach is up to them. Which I don’t think mine is, at this particular moment. Cheese is another matter.

Things kick off with a lot of speeches. And then awards to various people in Brazilian brewing.

“You’d better get ready to get on stage.” Chris tells me.

“What?”

“They’re about to give you an award.”

That’s a surprise. I’ve never had an award before. My main concern is that my shorts will fall down while I’m walking up to collect it. That doesn’t happen. Quite.

I genuinely don’t know what to think. The award itself is quite impressive. A solid sheet of metal. That’ll go nicely over my desk.

The food is a buffet, obviously. I’m a bit past eating when it’s served at 21:30. I’m feeling totally knacked, to be honest. I can’t wait for 23:00 to roll around when I can get the bus back to the hotel.

Some of the others head off for a nightcap. I just want to get to my bed. The bus to the judging location is at 8:00, so I’ll need to be up before 7:00. I don’t want to start tomorrow dead on my feet.

There’s just time for a little hotel whisky to gently nudge me over the edge into sleep.



Restaurante Moinho do Vale
R. Porto Rico, 66
Ponta Aguda,
Blumenau
SC, 89050-010.
https://www.restaurantemoinhodovale.com.br/