The amazing journey

I don’t sleep that well. Imagining all sorts of nightmare scenarios. This could work out very expensive. Dolores will not be happy if I have to fork out a couple of thousand euros for a stupid mistake. All of my own making.

Most of the judges have already left. Only a couple are around at breakfast. I would have my usual. Except that there’s no scrambled egg. Leaving my plate looking rather sad with just cheese. 

One of the staff brings out a plate from the kitchen for another guest. It’s scrambled egg. She notices me looking and gestures asking if I want some, too. I nod vigorously. Phew. Breakfast saved. If only that was my biggest worry.

I’m still doing some heavy-duty fretting. However I look at it, my chances of catching my Amsterdam flight don’t look great. Everything will have to run perfectly for me to be successful. Even the slightest delay could be disastrous. How often have I been on a flight that was 20 or 30 minutes late? Far too often for me to feel comfortable.

I check out at midday. And jump in an Uber to the airport.

It’s three hours until my first flight. I decide not to check in a bag. To make my exit from my arrival airport in Rio quicker. Just as well my check-in bag is small enough for hand baggage.

There are a couple of cafés and bars airside. I’m too stressed for alcohol. I want to keep a clear head, too. I get a baguette from the oddly-named Smell café. I think “aroma” is the word they were looking for.

You have to tick boxes on a form to say what fillings you want. Most of the options, I can’t understand. Which is why I end up with a boiled egg and red onion baguette.

Reassuringly, my flight is listed as on time. Now. Hopefully, that doesn’t change.

I read some Private Eye. And look at the Guardian website on my phone. I’m so modern, now. Just like one of those young people. Whose faces are permanently glued to their phones.

The flight is, indeed, on time. Even better, it’s a little early. Pulling away from the gate 10 minutes before the scheduled departure time. A good start. Still a long way to go, mind. I’m still feeling very stressed.

We arrive in Congonhas early, too. No air bridge, though. Meaning a bus ride to the terminal. My connecting flight is also out on the tarmac. Fortunately, the bus goes from the very next bay. That’s handy. My luck is holding.

I spend no time, really, between flights. And the second one also leaves early. Things are going about as well as they could. I let Jose know that I should be arriving on time. It’s still going to be tight. My heart is racing. Which is worrying.

As soon as we land in Rio, I message Jose. He’ll see me in arrivals.

With no checked-in bag, I walk straight to arrivals. It only takes us a couple of minutes to meet up. We climb into his car at 17:00. I feel relieved. Until Jose points out that the satnav estimates that it will take 53 minutes for the trip. Which is 57 minutes before my Amsterdam flight is scheduled to leave.

When does check in close for intercontinental flights? Forty minutes before departure? I hope so. If it’s an hour, I’m screwed.

The traffic is bad. We often slow almost to a standstill. The satnav estimates our arrival time at 19:53 or 19:54 for most of the journey. But as we get closer, it drops to 19:48. Which is exactly when we pull up at international departures.

I quickly find the KLM desk. It’s very quiet. And there’s a sign saying: “closed”. It doesn’t look good.

“Can I check in for the Amsterdam flight?”

“Yes, you’ve got a minute. Can I see your passport?”

Phew. As my bag rolls away on the conveyor belt relief rolls over me. That was way too fucking close. If we’d been stopped by one more red light, I’d have missed my flight. I’m glad that I didn’t know the cutoff time was 60 minutes. I’d have been worried sick the whole car ride.

That was far too much of an adventure. I get anxious enough just watching Race Around the World. I don’t want to live it.

Boarding has already started before I’m through security. It’s a long walk to my gate. With a couple of minutes’ delay at the duty free, I arrive at the gate 30 minutes before departure.

Once on board, I nip to the bogs to down a couple of miniatures I bought in the duty free. Just to calm my nerves. What a stressful day it’s been. Not one I’d like to repeat.

We take off pretty much on time. Just 10.5 hours and I’ll be back in Amsterdam.

A French-speaking couple sit next to me. They’ve brought McDonald's with them. KLM food isn’t great, but is it that bad?

The main meal – chicken with cheese on top – is surprisingly edible. One of the best meals I’ve had for a while on a KLM flight. Though that isn’t saying very much. The bar is barely at shoe-height.

I start watching some Mission Impossible nonsense. But doze off halfway.

I don’t sleep that well. I can’t really get comfortable. A couple of hours out from Amsterdam I give up and return to Mission Impossible. It hasn’t got any less ridiculous while I’ve been dozing.

The main part of breakfast is a bit weird. On the plus side, there’s some fruit. And coffee and orange juice.

When we arrive, I’m feeling pretty tired. Thankfully, I don’t have to piss around for too long in the airport.

When I roll up at home, Dolores opens the door. Of course, she has tea waiting for me. My first cup in over a week. It tastes so good.

 

Uberlandia bound

I rise just after 7:00. And, after my morning ablutions, go downstairs for breakfast.

It's the same as yesterday: scrambled egg and bacon. Along with coffee and orange juice. Plus fruit, of course. Wouldn’t want to skimp on the vitamins. Or the bacon. It may be the last I get on this trip. Best double up.

The other guests all seem to be Brazilian. Beach bound most of them, based on their dress. This is a handy spot. For the beach and everything else.  A really nice spot. Which is why I’m here and not wasting my money on a Copacabana beachfront room. Probably their motivation, too. Not a lot of business travellers, by the look of it. Just me. Sort of.

Just after 9:00 I get an Uber to the airport. Santos Dumont, not the international airport where I arrived. I’m off to Uberlandia. Weird name, I know. Strangely German. Sort of. In Minas Gerais. A new state for me.

Once out of Ipanema, we skirt Copacabana beach for a while. Hunking hotels looming over the beach. Which doesn’t look that inviting in this weather. Overcast and rather blustery. Like midsummer in Mablethorpe. But double the temperature.

On the way to departures, I notice that the bloke in front of me looks familiar. It's one of Brazilian judges, Jose Padilha. We’ve been at competitions together a few times. We sit together while waiting for our flight to board. 

I spotted someone in a Cantillon top earlier. After Jose posts a photo of me and him on the judges’ WharsApp group, Cantillon bloke comes over with his wife and introduces himself. He’s from Italy. Later a Mexican judge also joins us.

Our connecting flight in Sao Paulo leaves the gate on time, but then queues on the tarmac for ages. We take off twenty minutes late. The flight itself is uneventful.

Once we’ve picked up our bags, me, Jose and the Italian judge and his wife share an Uber to the hotel.

“Uberlandia is very different to Rio.” Jose remarks as we make our way along bumpy roads, flanked by random buildings of random heights.

That’s very true. Much more modern. And rambling. A lot less charming, too. With a busy four-lane road right through the middle of it.

The hotel is a bit grotty. And has a brown toilet. How weird is that? I suppose it hides shit stains well. There is a fridge. Where I stash what’s left of my cheese.

I have a few hours to myself. Warming myself up for the evening with the last of my hotel whisky. There are no glasses in the room. Another sign that it’s not the poshest of hotels. I have to mix in a coke bottle and drink from that. I feel so classy.

The bus for the judges’ dinners leaves at 19:00. Supposedly. This is Brazil. No way it will leave before 19:20.

Lots of familiar faces are waiting in the lobby. Which is cool. Plenty of people to chat to. And I’m a pretty chatty bloke. When the topic is beer. Then it’s hard to shut me up. Especially if I get going on the colour of Mild Ale. You’ll be lucky f I pause in the next three hours. Such a enthralling subject..

The dinner is at Captain Brew, a taproom. In quite a plush neighbourhood. The interior is fairly cavernous. As these places tend to be. With the brewhouse at the rear behind glass.

There’s a buffet. What a surprise. They so rarely have buffets in Brazil. Not really. I’d best get used to it. The first of many, I’m sure. I get myself some beef and cheese. Seems like a balanced meal. Colour-wise, at least. 

I have an IPA. There’s original. Not that there are loads of options. Rather an IPA than a Lager. Hops will cover up some nastiness that’s totally exposed in a Pils. And it’s stronger. Just love me those ABVs.

More cheese is eaten And IPA is drunk. It’s very good. The cheese, I mean. The IPA is OK. The cheese is something special. A cheese corner is home to several different types. Local artisanal stuff. Easily the best cheese I’ve had in Brazil. And, as everyone knows, you can never have too much cheese.

There’s plenty of chat, obviously. I talk to the Silvia de Tomas, from Peru, about writing, A topic I know a little about. I hope. I’ve written a lot of books. Volume counts for something, surely? Best not mention that. If number of words were the sole criterion, I’d be the best beer writer in the world.

I sit next to Suzanne and Kate, whom I’ve met a few times over the years. More than I’ve been able to forget. Back during my first trip to Boston, when Pretty Things held an event in their bottle shop. My biggest memory being how fucking expensive the Starbucks Dann bought for me was. The price of 3 Abts in Ton Overmars. 

Thankfully, the bus back to the hotel isn’t too late. I can’t be doing with late nights. Especially when I need to be up early in the morning. And need a clear head for judging.

I do have a small nightcap. Of gut-rot cachaça. I have to get someone at reception to open the bottle for me. It doesn’t have a screw top, as you might expect. Instead, a plastic top that needs to be cut off with a knife.

Soon slumber summons me. How can I refuse?


Captain Brew
R. Marieta de Castro Santos, 135
Altamira, Uberlândia
MG, 38411-004.


Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia.
 

Rio relaxing

I rise at 8:30. Potter around a bit, then nip downstairs for breakfast.

It's not a bad buffet. I go for bacon and scrambled egg. Followed by fruit. I'm such a healthy chap.

I wander to the supermarket to stock up on essentials: salami and cachaca. Two litres. I'll be needing that in Uberlandia. And am not quite sure where I could pick up some there. Or when I’ll have the chance. It’s not exactly the best stuff. Far from it. Not a cachaca you’d want to drink straight.

The weather isn’t great. It’s cloudy and threatening to rain. Not really beach weather. And only around 25º C.

I laze around in my room for a while. I'm in no rush. Around 13:30 grab an Uber and head for Copacabana and Colarinho. A bar that I rather like.

We roll through leafy Ipanema streets. Bustling businesses and apartment blocks. Chemists. So many chemists. Almost as many as in Paris.

I always try to drop by Colarinho when I’m in Rio. Grabbing a table outside. Where I’ve a good view of the street. There aren’t quite as many beautiful people walking past as usual. Though some still wander by in beachwear. 

What to start with? I think I’ll go for an IPA.

Colarinho IPA Maracuja, 7.5%, R$23.90
A bit hazy, but not too bad. Quite nicely fruity and not too bitter. Quite dank and quite alcoholic. Just like me (I keep making that joke.)

They’re still building opposite. How long have they been doing that? At least a couple of years. I doesn’t seem to have progressed at all since I was here with the kids in 2024.

This is my only real rest day. I did consider going to the beach. Then I saw what the weather was like. I don’t really fancy sitting on the sand in the rain.

I first came here with Martyn Cornell in 2020. On my first trip to Brazil. I’ve visited pretty much every time I’ve been in Rio since. It reminds me of Martyn, which brings up mixed emotions. Still hard to believe that he’s been gone almost a year.

Time for another beer. Maybe an IPA, for a change?

Noi Amara IPA, 10.5% ABV, 100 IBU, R$30.90 (450 ml)
Pretty sure I’ve had this before. I wonder what attracted me to it? I remember: the high ABV. Funny that. It’s quite dark and caramelly. Also, pretty bitter. As you’d expect from the name. 

Not bad. And very alcoholic. Did I mention that? Probably not. I don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing.

It’s not that warm. Did I already mention that, too? Barely warm enough to wear shorts. Which I’m obviously wearing. As I will be all the time I’m in Brazil.

The bloke on the next table is getting stuck into caipirinhas. He’s knocked back three or four since I’ve been here. I’ll be moving onto them later.

I’m feeling all relaxed now. Can’t think why. I just ordered a 57 real steak. Bargain. I don’t get anything to go with it. It’s a 100% meat meal.

A woman just walked past wearing a Nottingham Forest shirt. How strange. Most people are in Flamengo tops.

The steak is excellent. As they always are in Brazil. The beef is so good here. Just a shame about all the rainforest. Time for a caipirinha now. My first of the trip. I’m sure it won’t be my last.

You know what a caipirinha puts me in the mood for? Another caipirinha. Which is what I order. This is my idea of fun. Sitting in a Rio bar, drinking caipirinhas and with absolutely fuck all I need to do.

Still a bit hungry, I order a cod ball. Because I know from previous visits how nice they are. Full of coddy goodness. It doesn’t disappoint.

A French family, on their way back from the beach, order takeaway hamburgers. The adults drinking a Pils while they wait for their order.

I leave around 17:30. Before it gets dark. And when I’ve had enough caipirinhas to warm me up. I have nothing planned for the evening. Other than attacking my hotel whisky and fiddling on my laptop. 

I find that the maid has left the TV on. A bit odd. As there must be a reason, I don’t switch it off.

I turn in around 23:00. As I have to be up fairly early tomorrow for my flight. After I’m urged unconscious by whisky.


Boteco Colarinho Escondido
R. Francisco Otaviano, 30
Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22080-040 

 

Flying down to Rio

I've fairly early start. my flight is at 10:40. I rise at 6:45. And am in an Uber by 8:05.

The formalities go pretty fast tanks to pushing in boarding. And after a quick diversion to the duty free, I'm in the lounge by 8:30.

It's the standard brace of whiskies to kick off. Along with some breakfast. It's the best meal of the day in the lounge. The hash browns are pretty nice. Not so keen on the turkey bacon. I prefer the real stuff. Which is full of piggy goodness.

For some reason, I thought the scrambled egg was potato salad on my first visit to the food bar. WTF was I thinking? Next time I get myself a plain omelette. And insert some cheese. Cheese improves anything.

I revisit the bar bar a couple of times for more restorative whiskies. Wouldn’t want to be getting on the plane too sober.

There's no air bridge, for some reason. We have to get a bus. Which is weird for such a large jet. And lots of stairs to walk up. Always a challenge for fat oldies like me.

Boarding is competed pretty early. I’m hoping to get two free seats next to me. But right, just before the doors close, two young blokes take the seats. They're obviously on stand-by. And, judging by the way they interact with the cabin crew, seem to be KLM employees. Probably cabin crew themselves.

That's fucked me trying to surreptitiously drink the miniatures I bought in the duty free. Then, just before take-off, they're moved to premium economy. Phew.

Just before take-off, we're told that there will be a half hour delay due to a "miscommunication". Great. It's more like 40 minutes. Brilliant. Though the pilot claims we'll still arrive on time. I’ll believe that when it happens.

The first meal is meatballs. It's just about edible. Though I can't stomach the mash. It’s good to have low expectations of airplane meals.

I start watching Infinite Vice. Which is sort of like the Big Lebowski. But not quite as good. Half way through, I pause it and doze for a couple of hours. It makes the time go quicker.

I nip to the galley a couple of times to fetch some red wine. I wouldn't want to become dehydrated during the flight, would I?

It's a long walk to immigration again. At least there are moving walkways for most of it. With my oldie priority, I'm through in a jiffy.

My bag pops out quickly. And soon I'm in a taxi bouncing towards Ipanema. Through a darkened Rio, lights glistening on the hillsides. Motorbikes weave scarily through the traffic. We dash through floodlit tunnels. Finally, rumbling into the rumbaing streets of Ipanema. Where shops glow enticingly. Cafés and bars spilling joyously onto the pavement.

God, I love Rio. Especially Ipanema. That could explain why I come here so often.

Same hotel as always. Comfortable enough rooms. Great location. Pretty decent buffet breakfast, which includes bacon. Crispy bacon. Mmmm.

Once checked in, I nip to the supermarket. It isn’t even a block away. (See what I said about the hotel’s location?) For bread rolls, cheese, sliced meat and cola. The latter to mix with my whisky. That’ll be my tea. The rolls and stuff, not the whisky. That’s supper.

The meat section is impressive. Big chunks of lovely beef. I stare longingly at the display for a while. Before moving on to the cheese. A far less impressive display. I’ve been spoilt by living in Holland.

I consider dropping by Mad Brew for a beer or two. Just consider. I don’t actually do it. As it’s getting late. And the pubs are looking pretty crowded. With happy, young people. Pretty much the opposite of me. I don’t want to bring down the tone.

I spend the next couple of hours watching YouTube. And sipping my whisky. Until sleep beckons me from across the void. Hello oblivion.
 

Rio by the sea-o

A short video report of my time in Rio de Janeiro recently.

My 2025: pubs

Something I really love, pubs. How much time have I spent in them over the last 50 years? Not enough. Not nearly enough.

The year started with Checkpoint Charlie as my Amsterdam local. And ended with it replaced by the Butcher's Tears shop. Cheaper and it sells Stout. I get to chat with Eric, too.

Boteco Colarinho Escondido in Copacabana is one of my favourite spots in South America. Good beer and pretty decent food. Also great for watching the beautiful people on their way to and from Copacabana beach.

Staying in South America, the Tübinger Taproom outside Santiago in Chile is a wonderful spot. Surrounded by vineyards and backed by the mighty Andes. A magical place to indulge in a pint or seventeen.

Buenos Aires has several lovely old bars, of which Bar El Federal is a great example. Cosy, popular and with great local food. What more could you ask for? Cocktails. Which they also have.

How could I leave out Cooper's Original Ale House in Adelaide? A beautiful old Aussie pub with a dizzying range of Cooper's beers. Including their delicious Stout. Yum.

Talking of traditional Aussie pubs, the Napier Hotel is a great example. New to me, though I spent plenty of time in Fitzroy when I lived in Melbourne. How did I never visit this beautiful old pub? It has a multi-room layout reminiscent of a Yorkshire corridor pub. Lovely leaded glass, too. And a good selection of beer.

In Brisbane, I spent time in another couple of great pubs. The Empire Hotel in Fortitude Valley had an odd Aussie charm. And pretty cheap craft beer and food. And what can I say of the Breakfast Creek hotel? A beautiful old pub with Castlemaine XXXX served straight from a wooden cask.

Not really a pub, Welcome Ren Min stall in the Maxwell Food Centre in Singapore has a charm all of its own. And sells good beer and decent prices (for Singapore).
 

Beach bound

I wake around six again. And, after stumbling around for a while, trail downstairs for brekkie. You can probably guess what I eat. Along with coffee and orange juice.

It’s much quieter in the breakfast room than on previous days. Both in terms of number of people and of their dress.

A breakfast of scrambled egg, cheese, orange juice, coffee and a banana.

I laze in my room for a while, fiddling around on the internet. Around 10:30, I pack up and go downstairs to check out. Soon I'm in an Uber boinging down the motorway.

My oldie priority has me airside pronto. Without lounge access, I go into austerity mode. Getting myself a scrambled egg baguette and a coffee. That should wake me up. And I really need more scrambled egg. I can’t remember the last time I ate some.

I wander over to my gate twenty minutes before boarding is due to start. They're already halfway through. That's unusual. We pull away from the gate ten minutes early. Not that I'm complaining.

The flight is just over an hour. And uneventful. As all the best flights are. Excitement in the air is almost always a bad thing.

My bag rolls out pretty quickly and I'm all done thirty minutes before the scheduled arrival time. Now where's my driver? Nowhere to be seen.

I hang around at the entrance waiting for my driver to show up. Not too worried, as, you know, I'm very early.

Time rolls on. Cars pull up and drive off again. People come and go. None of them my fucking driver. I’m still not worried. I have plenty of options. And time enough. But I’ve already paid.

After 45 minutes, a taxi scheduler asks me if I need a cab. He’s seen me hanging around all this time. Do I? I suppose I do. Doesn’t look like my driver is going to turn up. Which is annoying.

The distant skyline of Balneário Camboriú.

Traffic is pretty bad. Well, awful, really. And the driver seems a little confused as to which hotel we’re headed. But we get there eventually.

A bus is due at 19:30 to take us to the evening's event. Which is in a restaurant down on the beachfront. I have some time to chill in my room before that. Literally. The aircon is set to 17º C. I wish I’d brought a jumper with me.

When I get down to reception, Thomas Sjoberg is there. We have a chat. I haven't seen him since I was in Atlanta last June. It's good to meet up again.

OX steak & fish sign.

In the restaurant there are so many people I know or recognise. Chris Flaskamp, Pete and Amy Slosberg. Loads of others. I have fun explaining my broken arm to those who were in Bahia in November.

“They have caipirinhas, Ron.” Chris says. Helpfully. “But you have to pay for them. The beer is free.”

Guess which I plump for? No, it’s not the beer. I get stuck into caipirinhas. Strawberry ones this time. As they’re easier on my stomach. Did I mention how much fun getting older is? No? There’s a reason why.

There’s not a dinner as such. Just nibbles. Waiters buzz around with spoons of food.

“It’s going to take a lot of these to fill me up.” I remark to Chris.

“Me, too.” He replies, plucking a spoon from a tray.

Many of the mouthfuls are pretty tasty, mind. The ceviche, for example. Which gets me thinking.

“I’d love to go to Peru.”

“You should be able to get an invitation to judge in Lima.”

Chris introduces me one of the organisers of a Peruvian competition. A very friendly young woman. Who seems OK with the idea of inviting me to Peru. I dream of collecting the full set of South American countries. I’m not even halfway there yet. And how many years do I have left?

A few caipirinhas later, after a couple of hours of standing, my legs are killing me. I go outside to get an Uber.

Trees at the Balneário Camboriú beach at night.

Standing on the seafront, I can see why they call this the Dubai of Brazil. There’s a row of high-rises, the tallest 40 or 50 stories. In the dark, it all looks very Alphaville to me.

The Balneário Camboriú beachfront at night.

I can't stay up too late. A bus is collecting us at 8 AM tomorrow. I drink just enough of the world’s cheapest cachaça for my sight to go blurry and my eyelids floppy.




OX Steak & Fish
Av. Atlântica, 5690
Barra Sul, Balneário Camboriú
SC, 88330-036.
https://oxsteakhouse.com.br/




Disclaimer: my hotel and some meals in Balneário Camboriú were paid for Concurso Brasiliero de Cervejas.
 

After the show

I get up at around 7:00. First thing I do is to check outside. The party is over. I wonder how long it went on?

After a little pottering, I go downstairs for breakfast.

It's the same as always. Scranbled egg and cheese to start. Fruit to finish. Along with coffee and orange juice. Will this be the last time I have this combination? Of course, it fucking won’t. 

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

I have a new approach to getting my eSIM working, I read the instructions. And realise that I need to manually set up an access point. Then it works. Who would have guessed that? That you need to follow the instructions? It’s totally counterintuitive.

What to do today? Nothing too strenuous. Or complicated. Preferably, withing walking distance. And with a certain amount of drinking involved. Beer, possibly. Though caipirinhas will do nicely.

Virus seems a good idea. I tramp down there a little after midday. And it's very closed. As if it never existed. That's a bit of a bugger. I’d planned on spending the afternoon methodically plodding through their beers

After some deep thought, I decide to give Colarinho in Copacabana a try. Good beer and good food. What more do I need? Not too pricey, either. I can remember the name and location. And they open for lunch.

An Uber gets me there pretty quickly. It's impressive how they've cleaned up the streets after yesterday's madness. There’s almost no trace left.

The packed terrace of Colarinho with waiters rushing about.

Colarinho is fairly busy, but I manage to find a seat outside. Where I order;

Noi Amara Imperial IPA 10%
A nice light lunch beer. It's an attractive amber colour with a thick, dense head. It's a little hazy, though well short of sludgy. It's very bitter. It claims to be 100 IBU and I can believe it. Not bad at all.

A pint of Noi Amara Imperial IPA. What a lovely amber colour.

I do like Coarinho. I come here almost every time I’m in Rio. Starting with my first visit to Brazil in 2020, when I met Martyn Cornell here. I don’t know, it just feels comfortable.

Tempted by those dining around me, I order a steak. It comes without any trappings, which is fine by me. I don't really need any carbs. Very enjoyable, it is. As I expected, this being Brazil.

My steak after I'd eaten half of it.

I order myself another Noi Amara and watch the beautiful people streaming to and from the beach. Which, I noticed on the way in, is packed.

After a while they roll out the monster TV screen. I remember it well from last year. On that screen I saw the cheating foreigners cheat England out of victory in the Euros. Just to make my opinion clear: the foreigners cheated.

They're showing a Champions League game. Feyenoord against an Italian bunch. Feyenoord concede a goal just before half time. I'm tempted to start an anti-Feyenoord chant. But can restrain myself. I doubt anyone would have joined in, anyway.

After two beers, it’s time to stretch my drinking legs and move on to caipirinhas. Don’t want to consume too many carbs. Not if I want to keep my svelte contours.

I order a couple of cod "balls". More like cigars, really. They're very good, if a little salty. I’m eating like a king today.

Two cod balls with some sort of red sauce.

It’s wonderful having my phone working. I feel so free. I can go wherever I want. Currently, that’s my hotel.

Which is exactly where I go. To watch Liverpool thrash PSG with a scrawpy late goal. That'll teach the foreigners. While consuming some of the cheapest cachaça available. If I mix it with enough cola, I shouldn’t go blind.

I turn in around 11. Fear of disablement hurries me to sleepytown.



Boteco Colarinho Escondido
R. Francisco Otaviano, 30
Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22080-040.
 

Still Carnaval

I wake pretty early. Around 5:30. Which is 9:30 Amsterdam time. I slept very soundly and feel quite refreshed.

I head downstairs for breakfast around 8:00. It's pretty crowded. Mostly with half-dressed people. No bacon, sadly. Instead, they have those chopped up sausages in red stuff. I make do with scrambled egg and cheese. Followed by fruit.

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

After eating, I venture outside to take a look at Virus, the brewpub around the corner. As it's closed, there's no sign of its existence. Just a rolled-down shutter covered in graffiti. I continue on to the supermarket. Where I get some essentials: cheapo cachaça, cola and cheese. All the big Cs.

On the judges WhatsaApp group, Andreas Kitzinger asks if anyone else is in Rio. And if they fancy meeting up for a beer. I answer "yes". Obviously. Why the fuck wouldn’t I?

I fiddle around trying to get my eSIM to work. Then head back to Virus, where we plan meeting up. There I discover that the eSIM isn't working, for some reason. Brilliant.

Virus is sort of open. You can't go inside, but they've set up a couple of taps in the doorway and set a few tables and chairs on the pavement.

Virus brewpub with temporary taps and tables outside. With a pair of purchasing partygoers.

I have a couple of IPAs. And a roast meat sandwich, which is dead good. With lots of onions. Exactly what I need. The IPA is doing its job, too. That hoppy thing backed up with a bit of oomph. A beer to breakfast on.

A meat sandwich, plastic cup of IPA and a menu on a table.

Many not so much lightly-dressed as slightly-dressed partygoers walk by. I've never seen so many men in fishnet tights and tutus. It has a bit of a Gay Pride air about it. Some of the party people pause to pick up Pils. Always the Pils.

There’s a merry buzz. Everyone is going to a party. I can feel their crackling anticipation as they laugh and drink their way down the road. Anticipation of a good time. A really good time. I’m starting to quite like this Carnaval thing. Everyone is in a really good mood. Even a miserable old git like me.

Virus temporary taps, price list and the inside of the brewery behind them.

Andreas can't make it to Virus on account of the traffic. We plan now to meet up at 3 PM at Os Imoratais in Copacabana. I indulge in some duty-free whisky while I wait. Just enough to warm me up for the evening.

It's a bit of a drive, but the traffic isn't too bad. I get to the pub a little before three and snatch an outside table. And order a caiprinha. As you do. You really can’t go wrong with a caiprinha. When in Brazil.

There's footie on the telly: Club Brugge vs Aston Villa. There’s always footie on the TV in South America. That’s one thing I’ve learnt from my travels.

Os Imortais outside with laughing customers and football on the TV.

I'm on my second caipirinha when Andreas and his girlfriend roll up. He follows my lead and orders a caipirnha. "We'll be drinking enough beer over the next few days." He remarks. Very true, very true.

They sensibly order food. While I stick to cocktails for the time being.

We chat and watch the beautiful - and not so beautiful - people stream by. Eventually, I give in to food and order a pasty. Just like with a caiprinha, you can never go wrong with an empanada.

I'm having no luck with my phone today. I connect to the pub wifi, but without internet. What fucking use is that?

We leave a little after nightfall. Andreas orders me an Uber. Soon I'm bouncing through the darkened Rio streets. Hoping we get to my hotel quickly, as I'm starting to be in need of a piss.

I make the bog without embarrassing myself, you’ll be glad to hear. Well, more embarrassing than the shorts and shirt combination I’m sporting alongside my Solovair shoes (like DMs but much better quality).

There's some sort of event going on in the square outside the hotel. Right next to the kiosk selling beer. What a coincidence. It’s pretty noisy, even with the window closed. Drums, whistles, guitars and singing. It’s full-on music.

I call it a day after a little duty-free whisky. Which leads me to the street of slumber.

I wake at 2:30 to the sound of drumming and singing. They're still at it on the square. They've way more energy than I have. Ah, to be young again.

I go back to bed. And have no trouble sleeping.



Cervejaria Virus
Rua da Carioca, 55
Centro, Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 20050-008.


Os Imortais Bar
R. Ronald de Carvalho, 147
Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22021-020.
 

Carnaval

(Not that I’ll be saying farewell to meat this trip. Quite the opposite. I am going to Brazil. Meat capital of the world.)

I rise at 7:15. For what will be a long day. Worth it, though. Did I ever tell you how much I love Brazil? You may have noticed through my many visits. This will be number nine.

I don't bother with any breakfast. There'll be time for that at Schiphol. And it will be free.

I jump in an Uber around 8:00. It's quite misty. The traffic isn't too bad and soon I'm checking in. The formalities don't take long, thankfully. And before I know it, I'm sitting in the lounge. They say every journey starts with a single step. For me, they start with a pair of whiskies.

A brace of whiskies to start.

It's quite full in the lounge. I have trouble finding a seat.

One whisky down and it's time to look at the food. Which is a bit different from last time. I get an omelette and scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. Very posh.

Once my first course is down, I read a little Private Eye. Well, someone has to do it.

For round two, I have two rosti and some baked beans. I'm really living the dream. Especially when I get another pair of whiskies.

Rosti and baked beans breakfast.

Lots of flights are delayed. Was that because of the mist? Luckily, mine isn't. Or, wasn't. Just before I'm about to head for my gate, it shows as delayed by 30 minutes. I get myself a nice cappuccino. Just to make sure I'm awake.

I time getting to the gate perfectly. Arriving just as they announce that my group can board. Brilliant. Zero time fucking around at the gate.

Has the mist delayed our flight? No, one of the windscreen wipers isn't working. At least that's wat they tell us. We wait around for a while and finally pull away from the gate about an hour late. Just as well that I have no connecting flight.

As usual, I pass the time with some shit films. Rock of Ages is fucking dreadful. Not helped by lots of shitty music. The plot of Rush Hour is ludicrous, but at least has Jackie Chan. Point Break is, well, total bollocks.

The first meal is fucking meatballs. Again. Just about edible. At least I can add some knives to the red wine with the miniatures I picked up in Schiphol.

I don't usually sleep on daytime flights. But I make an exception, fishing out my neck pillow. Do I sleep? Sort of. I doze a little.

After they serve us the final meal - a sort of pizza thing that I don't eat - I watch some Live at the Apollo. Which is reasonably amusing.

We land 30 minutes late.

There's the usual cross-continental trek to immigration. Is it me or are there more moving walkways this time? I'm already totally knacked and the walking doesn't help. Even with the walkways.

I'm quite sweaty by the time I get to immigration. Where, thankfully, there's not much of a queue. At least, for oldie people like me. There's a fucking huge one for the unlucky young people.

Where the fuck is my bag? It's priority and supposed to be one of the first out. I guess they didn't tell the baggage handlers here that.

Finally, after quite a wait, my bag flops out. And I make my way to the taxi counter.

It's not as long a drive this time. As I'm staying in the city centre rather than Ipanema. Where I can't afford to stay because of stupid Carnaval. For a while I thought I might not be staying in Rio at all, the hotels were so expensive.

As we approach the centre. there are lots of exotically dressed people. Barely dressed, many of them. They’re milling around the streets in small groups. Looking as if they’re on their way to or from somewhere.

When we get to the hotel, it doesn't look right. Because it isn't. It's the wrong Ibis. Brilliant. It takes another 10 minutes of crawling through partygoers to get to the correct hotel.

Before ascending to my room, I buy a sandwich and some water in the lobby. Need some ballast and hydration.

Hotel view.

In my room, it's time to power up my electronic devices. Not sure that I've managed to activate my eSIM.

Hotel nosh.

I crack open my duty-free bottle of Jura and watch some crap on YouTube. I don't stay up too long. As I'm fucking knacked.

 

Over the Andes

I rise at 6:30 and head down for brekkie with Alexei. Our flight is at 10:55. Don’t want to be late for it.

It's bit early for bacon for me. I stick to just fruit. Plus coffee and fruit juice. They've got cashew juice this morning. Something I've never tried before. It’s slightly weird. Perhaps I’m just not accustomed to it.

We jump in an Uber a little after 7:30. It delivers us to the airport around 8:30. And go to check in. I was dreading this a little. As we're flying with LATAM. With whom I had a really bad experience a couple of years ago.

I had over four hours between flights in Sao Paolo. But it took so long to check in, I only got to the gate five minutes before boarding.

This time, it works out fine. And soon we're going through the priority security lane. Then priority passport control. It doesn't take long.

Not having lounge access, we trail out to the gate and take seats. Thankfully, it isn't as long a walk as on the way in.

Priority has us as some of the first to board. Which is cool. It’s great being an oldie person. Health and fitness excepted.

The flight is around 5 hours. In the last bit we get a great view of the Andes. Though we only seem to be a couple of hundred metres above them. 

“Dad, what would you do if we crashed up here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you eat people.”

“If I had to to survive, yes?”

“Would you eat me?”

“You’d be the first in the pot.”

I read most of a Private Eye. Andrew just sleeps, while Alexei watches House on his phone.

Immigration is a bit of a nightmare. I’ll be honest: a lot of a nightmare. Pretty much total. The queues are very long. So long, that our transfer has given up waiting. We contact the company by Whatsapp, and soon our driver is back.

Not knowing how the taxis work here, I booked a transfer online. I didn’t bother in Rio, as I know how the taxis operate. You buy a voucher first and just hand that to the driver. No cash involved.

There’s a great view of the snowy peaks of the Andes as we pull out of the airport. Then bump and grind for almost an hour along the motorway to our hotel. Making a mental note of just how long it took.

Our hotel is in an impressive building on an impressive street. Most of the houses, like the hotel, are in a sort of medieval style. Stone faced with arched windows and stained glass. Really rather beautiful.*

After checking in, we go off in search of food. I made a map of nearby beer places back in Amsterdam. Most are around Avenida Brasil. A palm-tree-lined boulevard just around the corner, ending in a small square.

Due to a navigational error, we walk parallel to it, rather than towards it. Which throws me off. I can’t spot any of the spots after a bit of wandering around. Feeling knacked, we just go somewhere random.

Which is a place called Springfield. Quite a big pub. It’ll do.

“Have you spotted the theme here?” I ask. “I think it might be Simpsons related.”

“Very funny, Dad. What about getting us some beer?”

Draught Heineken for the kids again.

“What is it with all the Heineken?”

“Can’t we drink what we want?”

“I suppose so.” I reply, begrudgingly. “You could try some local beer.”

“I will. There’s plenty of time.”

I go for a pisco sour. I also have a go-to cocktail in Chile. I’m such a sophisticated chap.

“You’re not even drinking beer. And don’t claim it’s the hot climate making you drink cocktails.”

“It is a local cocktail, made with local ingredients.”

“Still not exactly cocktail weather.”

He’s not wrong. It’s decidedly nesh. Quite a shock after Rio. It’s like going from summer to winter overnight.

There’s no printed menu. Just a QR code. Which I hate. We’re endlessly scrolling back and forth. I give up and just plump for a ceviche. Alexei follows suit. Andrew isn't hungry. 

The ceviche is dead good. Quite acidic, but really tasty. Way better than I expected in what is basically a pub. The pisco sour is pretty poor. Didn’t stop me getting a second one, though.

Supermarket time next. For beer, crisps and rum. 3-year Havana Club is under 8 euros. Fucking bargain. You should see how Anrew’s little face lights up when he sees the price.

Except at the dog park the bag’s handles fail and the rum bottle smashes. I bravely volunteer to go back and get a replacement. Despite feeling totally knacked.

We drink a little beer and rum back in my room. But don't leave it too late as we're all knacked.

I make sure the heater is on before turning in. It really is quite chilly here in Chile.


* Rather surprisingly, the Concha y Toro neighbourhood was only built in the 1920s. Its curving streets and unusual layout were intended to resemble an ancient European city.


Springfield 2 RestoBar
Av. Brasil 150,
8340510 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.

Beach

I rise at 8:40. Alexei knocks on my door at 9:30 and we go downstairs for breakfast.

It's the usual fare: scrambled egg and bacon, followed by fruit. I’m painfully predictable.

As the weather is looking nicer, today will be a beach day. Alexei has brought his swimming trunks as he fancies a dip in the sea. So, we pick up a beach towel from reception.

On the beach, we get chairs and a brolly from hut 57X. Plus three giant caipirinhas. Obviously. Who would want to sit on the beach without a cocktail in their hand?

It’s also dirt cheap. Just 6 euros for 750 mil.

“Do you want it with just lime? Or with passion fruit as well?” Our friendly waiter asks. “It’s really good with passion fruit.”

“OK. You’ve convinced me.”

It does taste dead good. And fits in perfectly with the vibe of the beach.

It's quite lively. With a lot of young sculpted males. Who are very generously smearing each other with sunscreen. Quite a lot of moustaches, too. After a while, I twig. This is the gay section of the beach. Though not exclusively. No-one seems to mind, which is nice.

Alexei goes for a dip in the sea. It’s quite rough and there’s a red flag flying.

“The current is really strong. It almost pulled me over a couple of times.”

Rather him than me. I’m happy to sit and sip in the shade.

We while away a few hours, moving ours seats to stay in the shade. While vendors trail past with, empanadas, towels, prawns, BBQ meat and fags. The latter escalating quickly from fags to weed to coke. A gay couple just in front of us smoke a spliff. It's all very chill.

Of course, I send Mikey a photo of the beautiful beach. Just to make him jealous.

“I’m trying to get Mikey to come to Rio with me.”

“Have you convinced him yet?” Andrew asks.

“I’m working on it. The cheap cocktails might swing it.”

The kids swap over to beer. While I get a second bucket of caipirinha.

After a few hours, we head back to our hotel. And try to decide where to eat this evening. The kids find a craft beer place called Mad Brew literally around the corner. So we head there. It must be new, as I didn't find it in my search for beer places last year. Or I didn’t look very well. Which is also a possibility.

We sit outside again. It’s a fairly modestly-sized place. Though they have 15 beers on draught. A couple of Lagers, but mostly US-inspired stuff. As is the food.

The kids order wheat beer, while I stick to a caipirinha. I've only drunk one beer so far. Which is fairly typical for me in Brazil. I’m a bit dubious of beer quality. Though here would probably have been fine. The kids seem happy enough with their beer.

They have some awards pinned up over the bar. A couple are for a competition I judged.

“I wonder if I judged any of their beers?” I remark to the kids. “It depends very much on which of their beers won. I did mostly English-style stuff.”

“Then why aren’t you trying any of them?”

“I’m on holiday.”

“Yeah, right. That excuse again.”

Having a stupidly early start tomorrow, we eat quite early. First onion rings and chips to share. Followed by a burger for Alexei. Which he assures me is really nice.

“Dad, would you travel across America by train?” Alexei asks.

“Not in one go.”

“Why not?”

“It would be too knackering.”

“You mean because you’re old.”

“You have such a lovely way of putting it.”

“Thanks.”

After a bit of lazing around my room, we turn in pretty early. As we need to get up at 6:30. For our flight to Santiago. I hope Andrew can be roused. The only time he’s up at 6:30 is when he hasn’t gone to bed yet.

Cachaca is my new sleepytime chum.



Mad Brew Ipanema
R. Vinícius de Moraes, 120
Ipanema,
Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22411-010.
https://madbrewtap.glideapp.io/dl/d0a5f4?full=t