So, got out of bed and pulled on the old flip flops, and headed out. I love this place on Sundays. Not least because you couldn´t go shopping even if you really wanted to. All you can do is dawdle along until you find somewhere to have breakfast. I'm reminded of a great little jazz tune I heard in Turkey once called 'New York On Sunday'. - Big city takin' a nap.
Well, Rio never seems to nap, but Sunday morning is pretty close. We went to a juice place and fed the little rascal fresh pinapple until it was too late. Suddenly we knew his pampers were going to sooner or later lose their battle with the inevitable onslaught. Mind you - if the pineapple caused one problem, then my banana and oat festival milkshake served in a chilled bucket was no doubt going to cause the opposite. Next time I'm definitely going to include prunes in the equation. Don't be put off though, these juice place are not to be sniffed at. Just think of something and try it. The best thing is hearing the guy that served you screaming your order over the wall. (perhaps its forbidden to make a smoothie in public, i dunno.)
And so to the gathering crowds on the front to see what all the fuss was about. I'll tell you. Every boy soldier in town had piled into one troop transporter or another to ensure the safe passage of one Barack Obama from the Marriott to his car. And off he went, with 30 odd outriders and a gleeful wave.
Seeing was believing - anyone would have thought he was the personal saviour of every last one of us. They waved and whooped and hollered. Ahh, stuff it, so did I. - Something about getting carried along by a happy crowd just always does it for me.
We definitely came to the right place.
|Airforce One. Probably the reason our bloody flight was 10 minutes late.|