The end of the term as we know it....

So - this rather entertaining obsession that society has with the fact that at some point today it will be over has made me think.

What we all love to to is romanticise and daydream and wish our lives away. We love the idea that, seeing as the apocalypse is imminent, we get to be just a touch more romantic, or at least a touch more likely to do the things that we have always hoped we would be able to do.

I remember my first trip to Brazil  in 1998 -  and although the days of hyper-inflation were over, the days of the money in your pocket being worth something different from one day to the next were not. Taxi drivers raced around the city literally trading cigarettes as word of their inflation spread from one district to the next. Guys stood on corner bars on Friday nights, drinking what ever their wages would buy. Being broke on Saturday morning was preferable to waking up with a pocketful of cash that was worth next to nothing!

And so this is it - my last work day in 2012 (along with half the city, it seems) - best start making it count. Personally I'm going to save a little bit for tomorrow and the day after, especially seeing as there's an outside chance that the prophets of doom might be talking out of their arses.

I'm here for the gig.....

Peace and love everybody - why not just do one little amazing, lovely thing for someone? Pretend its your last chance...

Just How Festive Can You Be When It's So Bloody Hot?

Pretty festive, it turns out. The porteiros of Copacabana certainly know how to illuminate the streets. Our lad now has an exponentially increased risk of electric shock, thanks to a never ending daisy chain of fairy lights that tangles itself around every tree and trails though every puddle from here to eternity. Maybe they just want small children to light up too?

We've got joy, we've got fun, we've got Santa in the sun....

Just like everywhere else, the supermarkets and shopping malls declared Christmas months ago, but now it most definitely is the season, it seems that writing post-dated cheques to complete your shopping list is an option in all but the swankiest of places. Christmas on tick... reminds me of an Alan Bleasdale sitcom, only slightly warmer and less grey.

Santa (Papai Noel) is everywhere and the young and old seem to enjoy sitting on his knee and whispering their wildest desires into his shell-like. Only difference is that over here, he never seems to have a grotto - moreover, he camps out at the bottom of an escalator somewhere and any old Tom, Dick or Raphael can stand around and take a picture. Ho ho ho.

Oh, and the cabs have declared that tariff 2 is the new tariff 1. So before you embarrass yourself like I did, don't have a go at your driver - it might be a bit steep, but its legit. Just don't feel you need to chuck any more of your worldly wealth into the tips box he's tied to his headrests. Cheeky bastard.

The guys at our juice bar sing a song when you offer them a seasonal tip. I wonder if you went overboard and chucked them R$50 whether or not they would be able to improvise a full on nativity musical, with assorted sarnies and fruit as props. Just a thought.

As for the big day itself, what better way to spend Christmas than beering it up on the beach to those little known artists Gilberto Gil and Stevie Wonder! - For crying out loud - these people know how to have a knees up. Personally, I'll be doing slightly more familiar things back in blighty, but if I weren't, I'd be drinking disco piss in Copacabana for sure.

Merry Christmas! - What does it mean to you?

Are we there yet?

We're going home for Christmas - and the thought of all that decent beer is becoming all-consuming. Our little one is about to meet some of the family for the first time, and our not so little one is about to freeze his bollocks off.

Me and the boys. 3 Brass monkeys.

Festivities in Rio are going rather nicely too, however. We sang carols yesterday (or rather we chased our whirling dirvish as he ran laps around the church while a distant choir reminded me of a time when wassailing involved beer and yawping, rather than plea-bargaining and horrible threats)

Fa la la la laaaa, la la la la

The tree looks nice too. Ahhh. Almost worth the hour or so it adds to your journey every time you go anywhere near it.

Over at Jardim de Allah, there's something of an extravaganza going on. We went in the rain, but our little fellah didn't care. He too great joy in the various nativity interpretations on display - particularly the one that was all penguins and seal - 'Look mummy, its a really big foca, look at the baby foca, oooh a mummy foca' - it was worth getting soaked, honest.

Move on please, no Foca to see here.

And now we have 4 more work days, a bit of shopping, a beer or two - and then we're off. Anyone need anything?

See You There! (erm... maybe)

We all love to catch up with our mates. Like most people, I miss the mates I've made along the way and don't see anymore. I especially hate it when couples I know go their separate ways and it becomes really awkward to socialise with one or other of them.

I also am guilty of being terrible at all things concerning my diary. I've tried everything from Gadgets to Journals to the Fridge Door to Google Big Brother to the Filofax to good old traditional pocketbook. It makes no difference how trendy organising myself seems to be, I'm bollocks at it.

Still, it turns out that here in the Cidade Maravihosa I might just have a modicum of licence when it comes to matters of the agenda. It seems that diary inaccuracies are not so uncommon in Carioca society either.

Before I go ahead and insult the Brazilians that might read my offerings, please allow me to point out that many of these tendencies have indeed been brought to my attention by Cariocas that (aside from being mates) should know better than to savagely betray their fellow countrymen with almost brit-like distain.

Anyway... here we go with a few appointment related Rio inspired observations:

1.  If you make an appointment to see a doctor, don't assume it will happen at anything resembling the time you arranged, no matter how much you have to pay.
2. If you're late for your doctor's appointment, its fair to assume you've missed it and the receptionist has the right to grunt and groan and bollock you.
3. I you agree to meet someone 'at some point in the future' then this agreement is worth shag all.
4. The next time you should chance to meet the person from (3) it is perfectly acceptable to, once again, 'meet at some point in the future'
5. It is acceptable to invite up to 50 additional people to someone else's party, unless it is in their house, when a more modest 40 additional people is considered polite.
6. It is fine to hug, kiss and generally be over excited about meeting someone for the second time, even if you have no idea who they are. Artistry lies in finding out their name without them noticing.
7. It is ok to agree to do up to 8 things on the same evening and then do none of them.
8. 'one for the road' - or a 'Saideira' means that to continue drinking for several hours is likely.

I'm sure I missed a couple, but I'm sure you get the idea.

I love it here. 

Mind Your Tongue In Laranjeiras

I remember going round to my Grandma's house and doing all sorts of things that seem really strange now that I'm looking back at them. But sometimes those memories come flooding back, triggered by random things that happen by surprise.

It happened last night. I went out for a million or so beers with a couple of friends in Bar Serafim in Rua Alice, Larangeiras, and of of them ordered tongue and onions for us to share. The memories of Grandma's sandwiches returned and I couldn't help but smile. Who would have thought that all these years on, and so far away, I would be pondering my bickering grandfolks and getting the beers in. - It really was excellent, although I have to admit not something I would have plumbed for myself. Must remember to remain more adventurous in my menu perusal.

Anyhow if Lingua Cebolada is not your thing, then the rest of the Portugues menu is also superb and the location is smashing. I´ll be back.

Did you just stick your tongue out?

Sanduíche de pernil com abacaxi

Tada!

Now, at this time of resolutions, it really is hard sometimes to decide what to give up or take up. I decided this lunchtime to become an expert in this Don of sandwiches. Our guests of the moment were seriously impressed - and to be honest, who wouldn't be.

So, next time you roast an elephantine leg of pork - stick an obnoxiously over the top wedge of it between  two bits of bread. Add onion and chilli sauce and top with a slice of pineapple (yep, you heard right).

You'll never look back.

Happy new year.

Reveillon em Copacabana

We had mates over, and a babysitter. Result. Being Copa residents on our first New Year's Eve in Rio was in the bag.

Only thing was, I had absolutely no idea what 2 million pissed people in the rain looked like. I do now, and at times the crush was slightly worrying.

Over all though, a great time was had and as the fireworks began I have to say that it was pretty moving to be part of the gargantuan hedonistic knees up. - As we kissed and hugged each other (just because we'd managed to walk down to the beach without losing each other, I almost forgave the bloke that held my arm aloft in the crowd and rifled my pockets. Nice guy.

Anyhow - happy new year to everyone - may it bring you every happiness.

Next year I'm doing something much much more chilled out.

If you look closely, you can pick us out...

MORRO DE SÃO PAULO

After a hard year work work work, we decided to head north for a week. Ilha de Tinharé is a just off Salvador, Bahia, and the bustling port town of Morro de Sao Paulo is the place to do very little.

We flew straight to the Pousada Vila dos Corais from Salvador airport. This was an unexpected luxury,  but what a treat! - Always wanted to know what it felt like to be one of those swanky types stepping of the tiny executive flight. Now I know. It's pretty cool. The flight home was a different story - put it this way, zero visibility can surely only be fun in limited situations - and in my humble opinion, those planes (or any other vehicles for that matter)  - thoroughly deserve the luxury of being able to see.

Morro de Sao Paulo International Airport

Anyhow - the rest of the week was pretty straightforward - lovely food (all the dende scented delights you could hope for - best go easy on that stuff if you don't eat it that often!) - and stunning shallow beaches for toddlers to fill their buckets with little fish and crabs, rather than the more familiar species of empty beer can and crisp packet found on Copacabana!

(don't get me wrong - I love Copacabana, but the way some people just throw all their crap on the sand is starting to get to me. My latest in a long line of reasons for learning Portuguese more quickly is so that I can be brave enough to pick up someone's crap and give it back to them-- 'Oi, you slovenly bastard, I think you forgot something! - How about putting it in a bin so my kid doesn't keep pulling your cigarette butts out of his sandcastles? Have a nice day.')

Anyway, the Beach in Morro was stunning - our little guy complained at one point that the sea was too hot! - Poor little mite - I guess Brighton must be becoming a distant memory....

Anyhow as our delightful week of doing very little, the Christmas and New Year punters were arriving in force, and it looked like DJ Jane on the top of the hill was going to be in for several long nights. What a beautiful place to make your resolutions though - I only hope that the fire-wielding hippy chick we saw in the square manages to set fire her Catherine wheel-come-Hula Hoop in time. (on the night we were there, the breeze was posing a threat to her eyebrows and her sanity).

Put your dirty foot in it...

The million or so local boozers in rio (botequins) are affectionately known as  pé sujos or `dirty feet bars`. I love that.

So, where should I dip my toe in? - In Copacabana there is a local boozer every 20 feet or so. And they vary in quality (and friendliness) much like they do in any UK city. I guess the best advice is just to go for it. Order a beer and put your feet up for a while. Just people watch. I love that too.

My local  pé sujos is simply wonderful. From the moment I set foot inside they were great. And I couldn`t speak a work of Portuguese without having a minor meltdown. Its called Saci-Pererê on Rua inhanga in Copacabana. The same guys are in there from one day to the next - and a friendly nod is about the extent of our communication, - but to be honest, a friendly nod is perfect.

Saci-Pererê incidentally is a folkloric character that the kids (including mine) learn about at nursery. Interestingly, he only has one leg, so I suppose that makes my local one of few `dirty foot` bars.

The food is to die for. Especially if you`re a fat bastard. R$10 buys grilled chicken, chips, rice and feijão. There`s enough for a family, but don`t let that put you off buying it just for you - thats what the hoards do at lunchtime. And they scran it as if their life depended on it. Probably `cause they have to hot foot it back to work.

In the evening its a more pedestrian affair, and somewhat more civilised. Unless the ode boys playing dominoes in the square kick off for whatever reason - just pace yourself. Its easy to get carried away and go one massive bottle too far. (this is where I sampled the deadly Paulista Fogo) But still - its there to be drunk. 

I wouldn`t use the bathroom though. Its the result of an international projectile pissing competition. Go in there and you really will be wiping your feet on the way out.

This from Rocinha - Don`t put your foot in your mouth

And remember - only a fool tests the depth of the water with both feet.

How to escape for the weekend.....

The possibilities are endless, and even though we only seem to have explored a fraction of the city, sometimes there is simply no substitute for just taking off and grooving at another address. (ouch, did I really say that?)

We hired a car on Friday - not a cheap option at R$150ish a day (including all insurance) and blasted over the Niteroi bridge, headed for Cabo Frio. We drove the 200km in 3 hours or so and the week of work was a mere distant memory.

The delightful 'La Plage' Hotel, Pero, Cabo Frio

Our accommodation was a cross between Fawlty Towers and the Overlook Hotel in 'The Shining' - everything was proper knackered, and our room included a concrete spiral staircase leading up to the double bedded area. Everything was at least a bit of a health risk, be it a rusty nail or a twenty-foot plummet or a curiously gaffer-taped electric shower. Nice.

So how did we stumble upon such a gem? - Peixe Urbano, the internet offer site, advertised it a while ago and we bought it on a whim. Still, at least the beach was a belter.

There is something about seaside towns out of season. Some folks are dilligently getting ready for the wave of punters  on the horizon, some are desperately competing for the cash of the few intrepid tourists that have stumbled by early, and some just can't be arsed to do anything. Hotel La Plage couldn't even manage to rustle up a breakfast worth more than 5/10. Bless em. They were probably too busy not cleaning the pool, or checking that half the light bulbs needed changing.

At least the beach was a total stunner

Saturday was spent doing beers and sun/wind bathing. The beaches around this area really are special. So special in fact, that even if your hotel royally takes the piss in the hospitality stakes, you are still going to arrive home on Sunday evening with the batteries recharged. What is the something about alfresco seafood and beer that puts the world to rights?

Carioca da Gema!

Now here's an interesting phrase - and one whose definition seems to be a little hard to pin down, so my apologies in advance for pissing off any people who actually know precisely what a Carioca da Gema actually is.

Firstly, and most simply, its the yolk of an egg - that much is certain. Secondly, its a 'true' Carioca. Now I'm not really sufficiently in the know to be able to say what a 'true' Carioca is, but its safe to say that if you weren't born here, along with a couple of previous generations of your family, then you might consider yourself 'Carioca' but you are most certainly not an egg yolk.

Reminds me of the sound of Bow Bells, which incidentally I was born nowhere near. I'm about as Cockney as Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

'Carioca da Gema' is also a wonderful Samba bar in Lapa - we went there last night and drank beer and danced and danced. It really is up there with the very best clubs, and the musicians were effortlessly entertaining - I've honestly not seen better. Pretty sure they must have been born within the sound of some raucous samba clatter.

Now incase I've failed to mention it, one of my more serious interests is getting the beer down me. This place made it easier that ever. The waiters were weaving their way around the dance floor with ice buckets full of beer bottles. You just help yourself and let them mark your card. Whatever you do don't lose the card. The humoungus bloke on the door gently explained why. -- 'If you lose that you're gonna have to pay a lot of money to get out' - understood.

Get yourself down there.

Good Grief...

Its been a while since I tried to regail the world with my latest. I'll be honest - work is making sufficient demands... and although I know you'll be brimming over with sympathy if I never utter another cyber word, I feel that my ego might become black and blue if I don't give my small but perfectly formed audience another dose of 'Whaaatwedid'

If you didn't get it then, then i'll admit it now - I'm three sheets to the wind. Half hammered. Pissed as a fart.... - and the reason.... (amongst other things...) Fogo Paulista.

About a week ago, a mate at work planted the seed. He told me about hard to find Carioca bars where you could choose how to get wasted by combining drinks from the chalk board. A couple of weeks later, and I'm going for it this way and that at the local. Its hilarious. I'm having such a fantastic time people literally suggest that I eat chicken from their forks.

We have more guests soon. If they are feeling especially daft I'll suggest it.

Good grief.

Cobal Perspectives....

Cobal do Humaita, Rua Voluntários da Pátria, 446 e 448

This place has got everything. A fruit and veg market with a generous smattering of coffee shops, bars, vitners, restaurants, you name it.

Its open from early to late and if as informal as you like - I ve been a couple of times now and the crowd don´t really come here to be seen, they just come to chill out and have a beer, or do some shopping or buy a cushion, you name it (yep, you name it again...)

Come to think of it, its really hard to put this place into any category at all. Think marketplace meets nightclub meets live band meets car park meets furniture shop, you name it (?*!). All under a collection of mashed together corregated rooves. If this was back home it would be rougher than Catford Broadway. Here in Humaita it´s just a wonderful place to sit out and ponder the labours of the day. Christo, as ever is looking out over the place, and just in case he fails to keep the peace, a selection of armed private security guards are on hand at each gate to lend a gentle hand if required. Always nice to know you´re in good hands either way.

That´s the spirit

We went to 'Espirito do Chopp' where, believe it or not, great big towers of beer are served at your table and you can help yourself. Rude not to give it a go. Twice.

And if you're not blotto by the time you leave, Cobal has a nightclub! - I never ventured up the steps, but the with a name like 'Farup' I guess it might only be a matter of time.

You dancing? You Asking?

Rio Scenarium  

 Rua do Lavrádio, 20, Rio de Janeiro (Lapa)

http://rioscenarium.com.br/

This place rocks. Moreover it does that strange samba wiggle that cannot be learned. It must part of Brazilian DNA or something.

The best thing about having guests is that you make an effort to get off the sofa. On Thursday our visitor were here for the night en route to Paraty, so we decided to hit Rio Scenarium. I've been meaning to go to this place for ages.

Tucked away in Lapa its probably wisest to get a cab rather than risk the stroll. Getting in is a bit of a palaver, and don't forget your photo ID (this is the only time I've needed any so far in Brasil). You get a consumption card and pay on the way out.

Once inside, its easy to see why the Guardian rated it one of the top ten bars in the world. The whole place is happiness itself. Dance however you want an sing along at will. This is uninhibited fun.  The decor is anything and everything, from collections of posters and pictures, to a red phone box (how did that get here?). Tourists and locals smile and get on with the serious business of enjoying themselves. We stayed while the band did their thing. The time just flew. I'm smiling now just thinking about it.

Its pricey, but so what.

You dancing? You Asking?



You dancing? - Reminded me of the young ones...

Rik - Viv are you dancing?
Vivian - Are you asking?
Rik - Yeah
Vivian - Well Piss Off

Whats That Got To Do With The Price Of Beer?

Now, with an 18 month old son in tow, it will come as no surprise that our beer drinking escapades have all been short. But thankfully, living in Copacabana, they have been many. Now, I can't talk about late night places yet, but here in Copacabana, there are at least a million ways of getting it down you. Any way up it comes ice ice cold.

Now as my Portuguese develops, I'll embarrass myself less (I hope) - for now I'll just have to explain it using my most familiar poor language skills. Here goes:

1. Tinnies, cans - to be drunk everywhere, especially on the beach using a polystyrene hugger (are they called eskies?) - currently price ranges from R$2.50 from a news stand to R$4 served right into your hand as you lay on the beach burning yourself to a cinder wondering if you've (a) gatecrashed a supermodel convention. or (b) witnessed a Pat Butcher look-a-like trying to get away with wearing Bianca's bikini.
2. Bottles - Now, longneck bottles are decidedly posh (and about R$5) - but the bottles I'm talking about (and currently my beer vehicle of choice) are a mighty 600ml. Now if there are two of you, or three, or five for that matter - just order one at a time. Avoid any British urge to cling on to your own drink like it was keeping you alive. Learn to share. Everyone gets a small glass, and everybody drinks beer quick - so it stays cold. When the beer is gone (and much like Mr Ben's Shopkeeper) - all of a sudden, another one appears. Magic. Oh, and each gargantuan bottle comes in at around R$4.50.
3. Chopp. Draft beer. Quite posh - but been nonetheless and not to be sniffed at. And at R$5 a glass I find such blatant displays of oppulence frankly unnecessary.

Ok, thats beer far from covered, and no doubt a basis for further serious conversation.