If you had assumed Brazilian coffee would be good, you'd be right. Another example of how something so simple can be prepared well (or badly) by the chef (or barista). It goes delightfully with the scrambled eggs and tabasco sauce that we get for breakfast.
Skipping past Flamengo and Botofogo, we settle for a wee dander round Lapa, the off-centre district famed for its pubs and restaurants. Not on a Sunday, however. We mosey around some attractive squares, stumble across the hushed Cathedral of Saint Sebastian, and discover a tiny eatery on a side street that sells us big beers and food for six quid. We are entertained by the local wildlife, and by that I mean mad dancing locals and hooers.
Which sets us up for the Maracaná, the flying saucer stadium that acts as home to four of Rio's finest football teams (Fluminense, Flamengo, Botofogo, and this afternoon's struggling home team, Vasco Da Gama). It isn't often that you attend an even with 55000 other people and it feels both spacious and yet tightly-packed and atmospheric. The Maracaná is another of those fine stadia where the sound of the raucous fans around us is amplified over and over again to a roar. And Vasco's fans can sing, especially at 1-0 and 2-0. They also cheer the defeat of local rivals on the scoreboard. It is very like home.
Sadly, Vasco's chances of survival are slim at this point, requiring more than a few results to go their way this week and next, whilst our chances of success are reliant on the acquisition of food, so we headed back to the hostel to eat and sleep. A mixed plate of meat and beans accompanied our beers, thoroughly tasty, and now we sit listening once more to fair languages and flirting between guests.
The rain goes on and on, we read our books and lose track of the days. We consider our next stop; it looks like Ouro Petro, classy colonial town about 6 hrs north of here. We decide that sitting around waiting for the rain to stop might last longer than our allotted time in Rio. We go out and test out the metro.
Skipping past Flamengo and Botofogo, we settle for a wee dander round Lapa, the off-centre district famed for its pubs and restaurants. Not on a Sunday, however. We mosey around some attractive squares, stumble across the hushed Cathedral of Saint Sebastian, and discover a tiny eatery on a side street that sells us big beers and food for six quid. We are entertained by the local wildlife, and by that I mean mad dancing locals and hooers.
Adieu
D.
I checked the weather forecast and looks like it will be sunny after Christmas. Most sensible month looks like June - mid 20s and dry. My advice would be to head south to get away from the humidity of high summer.
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