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?

Cook it yourself!

I like to cook - but I definitely wouldn't consider it a hobby. I haven't exactly become renowned for my culinary prowess over the years, but I've never poisoned anyone either, and I've definitely moved on beyond the student staples that got me through my hard, hard studies.

Come to think of it, in four years as a student, I seldom ventured into the kitchen for fear of contracting something incurable. And to demonstrate the sensitivity of my refined pallete, I ate some bloody hot curries that made me cry just for a laugh. Where does that put me in line for Jamie O's crown?

I do, however love to eat local food wherever I am and a work buddy recently organised a session with ''Cook in Rio' for us to try some Brazilian food (and be taught how to prepare and cook it!).

The occasion was a friends birthday, and it was a perfect way to celebrate. Not least because if you meet a bunch of people from work it is always a good idea to try and steer the conversation away from the bleedin obvious, and when everyone is 'hands on' from the moment they arrive, chopping, peeling, boozing etc, then it really does feel like a party rather than a works outing.

Simone was the culinary oracle of the moment, and she led us through Batida de Côco, Aipim Frito, Caipirinha, and Moqueca (there was more, but you get the idea...) - I'll definitely be giving it a go at home.

So - if you fancy fine-tuning your chopping or just getting tipsy with the excuse that you're absorbing another dose of Carioca culture, then give it a go - can't recommend it enough. Cheers!

Getting Mugged In Rio

Oi - Get off my nuts......

I´ve travelled a fair bit. Any number of time-killing Facebook surveys will concur. I know what's risky and what's plain daft. Truth is the most significant skirmishes of my life have been back in my green and pleasant land. And both were neither green nor pleasant.

Anyhow, crime in Rio is a worry. And even though there is no doubt in my mind that it feels safer here now than it did when I visited in 1998, I can say, once again from shitty bitter experience that it pays to be careful out there.

A few weeks ago some fella in Lapa offered to throw his remaining booze away if I gave him some money for food. This quickly escalated into 'I have a big knife if you want to do this another way etc etc. The street was really crowded and for once in my boozy life I was totally sober. He kindly told the police in a passing car that I was just a gringo who was making a scene. They promptly disappeared. Nice. I ran off and jumped in a cab - although it did take some argey bargey to wrestle him away from the door. I cancelled my plans to go for a beer and just went home instead.

So. All in all no big deal. Except everyone I tell (especially the cariocas) say I should have handed over my stuff. Hmmm. Next time I will.

And that's precisely the problem. Next time. I'm now an overly cautious big tall gringo who has properly damaged his mojo. I know the chances of getting mugged are slim if you are careful, but now I feel that they´re just not slim enough. I really hope its not too long before I can wander beyone my cosy Copacabana local without feeling like somebody wants to have it away with my meagre pocketful. Yesterday somebody stopped and asked me directions to the metro. As I pointed up the road, I´d already worked out that if it was going to be a toss-up between giving him my wallet and trying to punch his lights out, then the wallet was definitely going to have to go.

Ok - not that it needs saying, but heres a few security ideas you might like to try out:

1. Try not to be on your own for too long-  if you don´t end up robbed, paranoia might drive you to distraction (or maybe that´s just me)
2. If you are on your own, then try not to be plastered.
3. Don´t carry loads of cash - but always have at least R$20 as a muggers consellation prize.
4. Don´t be a posey bastard, talking loudly in English  on a posh ´mug me´mobile phone while reading a half folded map. That would just be ridiculous.
5. If in doubt, don´t walk - get a bus.
6. If in doubt about about the bus, get a cab - even though they´re getting pricey, a ride accross town won´t leave you destitute.
7. If the worst happens and someone want´s your belongings, just hand them over.
8. Don´t show the entire bus the contents of your wallet when you bay the bus conductor.
9. Keep a copy of your id and card numbers at home.
10. If you happen to be of the big tall gringo persuasion, don´t assume your´re ever going to blend into the crowd.
11. Don´t wear a collection of jewellery only Mr. T could compete with. Better still, don´t wear any.
12. Don´t frolic on the beach after dark. That one´s a classic.
13. Don´t hang out in the 40th floor Bar at the Othon Palace watching frolickers get mugged. Thats just mean.
14. Put your wallet in your front pocket.

I reckon there may well be more. - Any ideas?

Reasons to feel like a cheerful Carioca. Part 1.

We have houseguests again! - Always a welcome diversion and a chance to rediscover this and that. I don´t reckon I´ll ever tire of nipping up Pão de Açúcar. This lastest time included a sunset that I´ll remember for a while!

Anyhow - when people visit and I have to work, I try took line them up with a few bits and bobs to supplement what the Lonely Planet has to offer. And this time I`ve noticed that I`m actually starting to develop a slightly more natural rapport with this cidade maravilhosa. This in turn makes me feel like I actually (and only occasionally) know what I'm doing.

1. I know bus numbers.
2.  I know where to peep out of the cab window to grab a cheeky view.
3. I have first hand experience of at least a dozen conveyors of pork sandwiches.
4.  I have a carioca card. (though I don't really know why)
5.  I drink coffee sold from the back of some bloke`s car.
6. I don't notice that the bus driver seems to be posessed by the devil anymore.
7. I read the paper on the metro. (well.... I actually only read the easy bits)
8. I'm developing a creative sense of timekeeping. (not sure if this is a good thing)
9. I've started folding all my money into a big wedge that actually amounts to very little.
10. I've used my credit card to buy a coffee.
11. I've sat on a bench outside a restaurant queing to get in.
12. I've worn outlandish fancy dress in public.
13. I'm developing a tolerance for beer beyond my wildest dreams.
14. I sometimes find myself eating a piece of toast with a napkin.
15. I eat feijao in the pub with my 2 year old.

Now  - I know these are small moves - and I know that I'll forever be a big tall 'rob me' gringo - but for the moment at least, I feel like I've turned a corner. Get in.

(still reckon it'll be a while before I go to the supermarket in a pair of swimming trolleys though)

Now, when was anything 100% safe?

 (os bueiros vão nos engolir)

When we arrived in Rio almost a year ago, we were given a ton and a half of great advice. So much life saving bits and pieces, we, being only human, could only remember some of it.


Anyhow, this time last year parts of Rio state had been subject to flooding that devastated towns and cost many people their lives. When we arrived in Brazil, the race to provide relief to these communities was on, and collection points around our new home from home were filled with spare clothes and toiletries, as well as tinned food for the hundreds that had become charity cases overnight.


Back in the city, the flash floods, although not an issue threatening entire villages, were taking people by surprise. And in the worst cases, the floodwater would lift the manhole covers and leave hidden holes underneath the surface of the water.


These holes occasionally swallowed poor unfortunate individuals who were either trying out their Gene Kelly moves, or simply wading through the water to cross the road.


Wind forward a few months and the frightening number of dodgy manhole covers pushed the powers that be to inspect them all (approximately a gazillion of them) and give them a percentage rating as to how unsafe they were. In august, wooden boards started appearing around loads of former manhole covers, pending repairs leading to their being decreed a suitably small percentage unsafe.


And that was it. Until last week, when an underground gas explosion in Centro caused 3 manhole covers to blow off. One wrote off a parked car and another injured a woman. The ensuing investigation has once again resulted in wooden hoardings being erected around loads of manhole covers in Copacabana, Centro, Tijuca and Botafogo, I assume to assess their potential for withstanding underground gas explosions.

Watch this space, and in the meantime, I wouldn't worry too much about walking on the cracks in the pavement, but I would definitely stay well away from the bloody manholes.


Oh, here's a decidedly more accurate warning than my anecdotal rambling: Prefeitura do Rio de Janeiro identifica mais um bueiro com alto risco de explosão.

Tell the teacher I'm Surfing......

Arpoador - the rock between Ipanema and Copacabana

With our guests safely on the next leg of their journey (although the journey to Ouro Preto was slightly less than safe in the torrential overnight downpour) - and the little fella safely incarcerated in the Creche with his inmates, and his Mum hard at work behind her desk - I was left to my own devices for a couple of days this week... So what did I get up to?

I did it all, in no particular order, but most of all I nipped into a couple of the surf shops in Arpoador, and eventually walked out the proud owner of my first board. (worth noting that if you part with all the cash you have on you and pay for the rest by card in the cafe next door, you get a decent discount.)

I strolled back to the flat along the length of Copacabana beach wondering how I could go from fully equipped to actually being able to take to the waves without killing myself.

A few youtube clips later and I decided that professional help was the best way forward. I called the guy in Arpoador and arranged my lesson for the next morning. Very sensible Andy, very sensible.

At the bottom of our street is a bright orange bicycle station - so I tucked the board under my arm and headed off along the seafront to the Arpoador (the big rock between Copacabana and Ipanema).

My teacher for the hour was Jean, and he sorted it all out. The beach was rammed and as I lay on the sand trying to jump to my feet nobody seemed to be pointing and laughing. Infact when we took to the water about 10 minutes later nobody seemed to be pointing and laughing then either. Either I was looking double cool and nobody even noticed that this day one, or, quite simply, nobody messes with Jean. (Its worth pointing out here that some of the local kids at Arpoador can get a bit territorial - especially if a hundred or so beginner gringos are getting in the way every bloody wave - best get a teacher who understands the law of the land....)

Anyway, I stood up and Jean whooped in the distance (probably because I no longer qualified for the free lesson he promises if he dosen't get you on your feet) - seriously folks - this guy is worth meeting. At R$70 an hour, it beats drowning too.

Try not to get run over, drowned, or the one that mows down a small child with a bucket and spade....

And here's (a slightly dated) video show Jean Carlos (the guy who I had a lesson with) - and his ongoing project that helps to get the local kids surfing. Its easy to see why he has so much respect.

Surf Gloria, Rio De Janeiro 

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...

Just the two of us....

So, mum is working away back in blighty in the freezing bloody cold, where the trains are late, and the chavs take to the streets and pilfer the flat screens they need to survive. Back to the Horse & Groom and the beer in glasses big enough to swim in. Am I jealous? Yep. A wee bit. More than anything I miss us being an invincible trio.

When we moved to Brazil I had no idea how much it would remind us how close we are. Dealing with this whole adventure is the ride of my life, and I love every second. Even if it takes some reflection to love the shit bits.

Right now I'm sinking cold beer on the beach, waiting for him to wake up for the next installment of his glorious 2 year old life. I just want to share every last drop of it. (his 2 year old life, not my beer)

And to be honest I'm pretty knackered too.

Still... She'll be back before we know it. Best go and do the pots.

another cheeky Copa tinny, in a glass this time - it is Sunday after all....

Abacashheeeee!

Gay Pride in Copacabana

We wandered down the beach yesterday afternoon with a couple of visitors who were over from London. It was about 11am and things were already hotting up for the Gay Pride parade, due to happen in the afternoon. Clearly many of the revellers were going to make this an entire day on the sauce.....

After lunch things were beyond busy, and everybody was drinking something - quite a few had abandoned decorum altogether and had taken to chugging bacardi straight from the bottle.

The issues seemed to be getting across too, with sexual health stalls and Gay rights pamphleteers doing a grand job. I imagine it only got harder the more wasted people became.

Then the parade passed by - and I have to say that If I ever make it onto one of these mobile sound systems, I'll make sure I smile and wave and dance my ass off (about 50% of the participants seemed to have forgotten that this was their chance! To be honest, it was more fun people watching in the crowd.

And after the parade? An army of a hundred or more orange-clad sweepers, destroying the evidence as fast as it was created.

the orange army......

And as the party goers made their way off the beach in their varying degrees of pissedness, I was once again seriously impressed with the whole-hearted way in which these people properly get on it. I even saw one guy surf the entire length of the banister on the escalator in the metro station. Rock on. I always dreamt of doing something like that.

I love love Copacabana, they really know how to throw a party.

Escola de Portas Abertas

It occured to me (or rather it has been pointed out quite a few times lately) that, although my intention is to keep an account of the beautiful way in which our family grows from one day to the next while we are here, painstakingly recounting each precious moment as the minutes become hours and days - I more often than not end up talking about boozing.

So for the next 2 minutes or so, I promise a teeny update on our ongoing family life, focusing, as our family life rightfully does, on our little fella.

On Saturday we went to the Creche´s open day. It was a giggle and a half. We watched our little man sing the songs and do the actions. We watched him run about and play with the hula hoops. We joined him for storytime and watched him stroke the rabbit and goggle at the chameleon.

And most of all we learned that, however groovy the nursery may be, the last place you want to be on a saturday is at the office! - After it was all over we went and bought him a new bucket and spade - and went and played on the beach. (and yep - I got the beers in!!! - Promised I´d only bang on for 2 minutes!)

Ok, you´ve got your picture, lets get out of here, I´m spitting feathers.....

gr

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.

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.

Party Like You've never been two before....

Our little fella spends Monday to Friday at a local Creche, and as he and his toddling buddies approach the rip old age of two, we get the odd invite here and there. If we can go, we do. I honestly reckon that these events are reason enough to have kids. I really hope everyone gets to one sometime.

We just got home from one such occasion in the Sala de Festas at a building just around the corner. There were  good  handful of twoish kids along with assorted parents and family (older siblings, cousins and their mates) and their parents. A few waiters serving kids stuff and grown up stuff and a team of children's entertainers doing what they do. Don't forget the popcorn man and the woman looking after the trampoline.  Apart from them, it was pretty chilled out.

As far as our man went, the event ran from just before bedtime to head banging the fixtures and fittings in bewildered exhaustion. He had the time of his life. He bounced and hula-hooped and ate sugar for over 2 hours. What a fella. I got the beers in again. It really came as no surprise that the cold stuff was never more than a heartbeat away.

It was truly special to be part of this lovely celebration. Brazilians do so many things well, but the way they celebrate their kids probably tops the lot. Right, more beer before I get all loved up and over emotional.

Dia dos Pais and an Armed and Dangerous Wind Band...

So its Father's day. Quite cool to get a pat on the back. On Friday I was invited to attend a presentation at the little man's nursery. Every dad turned up, without fail, and watched their toddling bundle of joy prance about the place in a cardboard neck tie, dazed and confused as to what this circle of random blokes was doing. There was cake too, and a packet of screwdrivers for each doting dad.

Just another day at the office...

But the celebrations didn't end there - far from it. On the way home, the police wind band was playing outside of the metro station.  Now, I've played for a good number of musical directors with serious psycopathic issues. But I've never played for anyone who found it necessary to carry a bloody gun while the assembled multitude swayed gently from side to side. The band was actually pretty good. Good job really - nobody likes to see bullet holes in a band member just for the sake of a missed note or two.

Its been reported that batons will be used.

Any questions? Didn't think so..

Hidden Gems; Sunday in the park

Parque Estadual da Chacrinha (map) or
Parque Estadual da Chacrinha (website)

Sometimes you could be forgiven for thinking you were back in the woods in England somewhere. But more often than not, there's a swift reminder that, although the greenery might be reminiscent of our green and pleasant land, the reality is most definitely many thousands of miles removed.

This morning we had friends over for coffee and then went to the park just across the way.   Now, nobody likes a show-off, but if you stroll into the park and a chorus of 20 or so chattering monkeys happen to be on top form, along with a pair of toucans flying from tree to tree, I couldn't help but feel just a little bit like a smug bastard. I felt like I'd just walked onto the set of the new Rio cartoon movie. And all within 5 minutes of the front door.

The blokes were more intrepid (including 2 under fives) and ventured into the woods. Pretty cool - but maybe a tad steep for a nearly 2 year-old.

Back in the main park, it was a hive of juvenile activity with kids parties and a football pitch, swings, slides and a couple of sheer drops onto concrete landings just to remind you that (if the monkeys and toucans weren't enough reminder) -  this is Brazil after all.

All in all a lovely way to kill an hour or so - but best keep an eye on the little ones - no one likes to see a plummeting toddler.

What you staring at?

Post Gig Bite and a Natter?

Why not listen while you read?

There is a love of nattering amoung all performers. I suppose it comes from spending hours and hours killing time in cafes and pubs and service stations the world over. It came as absolutely no surprise that in Rio, the nattering has been going on in Style for decades.


La Fiorentina restaurant in Leme (near the end of Av. Atlantica) is a wonderful glimpse into the gigging life of the Carioca performers throughout the decades. Many have left their photos or signed their name on the wall. MPB composer Ary de Resende Barroso even left a bloody great bronze statue of himself.

We stopped by for pizza and pasta Sunday lunchtime. Wonderful, if a little pricey. Still, it beats a pasty in an M1 services at 3am. And that´s always a little pricey too.

Apparently they stay open until the last person leaves. Might be perfect as the last stop after a boozy one in Lapa. Who knows, if I pull my finger out I might be allowed to sign the wall one day.

Fancy a tall, stiff one?

How do you like your eggs in the morning?

Midweek Breakfast Panic......

Now theres no point starting the day on an empty stomach, and here in Rio there is absolutely no excuse whatsoever. My daily coffee and fresh bread is such a staple part of my life now I feel as though I might come slightly unhinged without it. Who would have thought? Anyhow, if by some freak of nature (and believe me they happen here) I don't make it to work before breakfast is snatched back into the kitchen, there are literally hundreds of en route possibilities worth considering. I'm not kidding. On wednesday this week I bought a coffee and a sarnie from some bloke selling them from the boot of his car. Absolutely top notch.

Weekend breakfast delights....

Now, since the patter of tiny feet, hung over lie-ins have become more modest to say the least. Hangovers though, I have to say are still plentiful and getting worse as a speed towards dementia. Thanks heavens for the marvellous Copacabana saturday morning breakfasts. They truly save lives. Here's how.

This morning we amble along the road for 5 minutes and stopped at Big bi's (I reckon there a few) - and bought:

• Toast+butter
• Pineapple Juice (fresh as a daisy)
• 2 coffees with milk
• Cheese and ham pastry (called a joelho)
• Esfha de Carne (mince meat and veg pastry)
• pão de queijo (cheesy bread balls)

Wonderful - all fresh, and served with a smile - the bill? R$16 - just over 6 quid.

Coffee here, as you might expect, is everywhere and really varies in quality, but at these places, a 'Cafe Media' with milk is a small work of art. Take the time to watch your waiter pour the milk and coffee it precisely the proportions you want. Does it really make a difference? - Apparently so. And always remember that if you want to add the entire sugar bowl to this carefully crafted concoction, then that's absolutely fine.

Now - if you want to splash out, there are loads of places the hungover chic Carioca set like to be seen recomposing after a heavy night. Last weekend we went to Santa Satisfação. The honey was amazing - and I'm not that bothered about honey. Ra ra ra - you get the idea.

Anyhow, I reckon we could do breakfast out for years without exhausting the possibilities. How do you eat yours?

I can't get no place to sit down...

Ever had a glorious lost weekend?

My student days were largely lost. Not just the weekends either. I would occasionally even stir from my heavenly resting place after the latest in a series of parties of my life and realise I'd missed a nine o clock lecture. By a day and a half.

Well, this weekend was a touch different, although as I sit here trying to piece it all together it occurs to me that the glorious weekend must have involved more than just a couple of cheeky ones. We did some really cool bits and bobs though - so if you're interested, here are the headlines.

Saturday was a lazy morning with lunch from the local bakery/petrol station. This place is an institution, and I'm sure I'll bang on about it for years to come.  Anyhow, given that the world (or at least the world that I'm familiar with) seems to be football obsessed, we decided that it might be time to just roll with it. We met up with a crowd at INVICTO - "Sports and Fun Restaurant" to watch events unfold. Pretty good boozy fun really - and our little man joined in where he could. As the afternoon progressed, his banter seemed more and more profound and sensible. Come to think of it I was concentrating so hard on the refreshing Bohemia, I must have forgotten to pay closer attention to the game. Still, I'm sure I can ask a few of the United fans I know to enlighten me.

Anyway - this bar was pretty trendy, and had one of the infamous 'consumption card' systems. Best get used to these. Its like a reverse debit card. You just collect one when you arrive and go as mental as you like. Everything you buy goes on the card. Three course meal, bottle of vodka, beers for everyone, you name it. All you have to do is pay it off and collect a ticket so you can leave. I've heard some pretty grim stories about what happens when these cards get lost. Still, not to worry, I can't imagine how anyone could be so daft - especially after 2 barrels of booze and a bag of chips (which cost a tenner, incidentally)

And so onto the lagoa for a lovely evening stroll ending at 'Bar Lagoa' - where apparently the waiters can be a bit arsey. This is a real Carioca institution - frequented by misty-eyed students, pensioners and novella stars alike. Our waiter was a top bloke - shame really, I was expecting the full-blown quasi Parisien snort. Never mind, I'm sure if we go again we could ask for someone a bit pissed off.

Maybe if I kicked him in the knackers....

Me & Macca

the fab 3 (plus a buggy)

Well, when I say Paul McCartney, I mean a bloody good real life impression of him. So good infact, I felt like taking my shoes off and following him accross the nearest zebra crossing.

Beatlemania 40 something years on (and without the other three) has firmly established itself here. Paul is our new neighbour at the nearby Copacabana Palace Hotel, and he's doing a couple of gigs out in "Engenhão" tonight and tomorrow. To be honest, anyone would have thought that Mr Lennon himself had teamed up with Elvis to do a couple of numbers, - but it seems that Paul alone is worthy of this incredible hype.

I wonder if he had the same room Miley Cyrus had last week.....

Its 25 years since Paul played Rio - which really makes me feel old. I remember my grandma buying me the tape of the concert to put in my walkman. To be honest I reckon he'll hardly change the set list this time - if it aint broke and all that. 

Everybody here has been waiting for this moment for months and we stumbled upon a fair sized crowd staking out the hotel this morning. Oh to catch a glimpse of the legend as he polishes of his full english. I met one bloke who was the absolute spitting image of Paul in the Sgt Pepper era - tash and all. I mean it. People were lining up to get a photo. I joined them - he was decidedly amenable considering the number of randoms harassing him. Come to think of it, a twenty something Brasilian Paul McCartney doppelgånger deserves to be the subject of some mild harassment at least. 

Hope its a good gig - its R$180 - R$700 a ticket (68-260 quid!) - At that rate, I'd not only expect  Jude and Michelle and Prudence and Eleanor and Sadie and Sally and Anna and Martha and Madonna (to name but a few) - I'd also expect Nancy's phone number!

Oh for god's sake.

Dial out....

Nothing like Baba ghanoush on a motorbike

I know its unremarkable for most people, but I feel I should announce that we just ordered takeaway food online. This most basic pastime represents our Carioca coming of age. This was the first time we have embarked on any such mission without encountering a single obstacle.

We used disk cook, which provided a good list of local restaurants. Sure, you have to sign up here, enter all manner of personal details and generally faff about, but we are slowly getting used to all that. The main thing was the food arrived within the alloted time, it was what we ordered, and we didn't have to venture out in the pissing rain. Spot on.

So, what did we eat? We ate arabic, from the swanky place down on the seafront. We've always fancied giving it a try. Jill would love it! Would I disk cook again? Yep. Especially when pushing the buggy through a monsoon seems like being as much fun as punching yourself in the face.

Back in Brighton, we ordered internet pizza sometimes. It was always crap.