Day 232 - Rio de Janiero

"People," begins Elliot, swizzling his cocktail stick, "well, I say people, I mean four friends of mine..."

He pauses to note, as if for the first time, the garish pink drink in front of him, as well as an expectant Alex the barman.

On the TV, the latest unforgivable gaff by a quarterback named Fitzgerald is being broadcast to the world.

Elliot takes a moment to sample his drink from the straw, then nods to Alex to indicate the cocktail is good. Alex scuttles happily back to his cocktail mixing station.

"Ya, well that's about it really. My friends give me their money, and I come to Brazil and find ways of investing it". Then, as indicated, that's about it. Elliot leans back into his chair, brushes his fop of blond hair from his eyes and continues to drink.

Not a bad life. Very Rio de Janiero.

This bar, Blue Agave, is situated two blocks black from Ipanema Beach. It is small, but well set out. It has new fittings and fixtures and a giant plasma above the bar, showing pirate ESPN. It has a comfortable feel to it; part New York Tavern, part Miami tequila den. I have already decided I shall drink here all week long. I pick up a vibe that Rachel feels the same way.

It's a new bar. We know this because the owners have told us. They have told us many things. The history of their travels around the world, how they came to be in Brazil, why they decided to start the bar, why it's a Mexican bar; even why they think Rio needs this kind of bar. Even when I think the conversation is over - for example when they walk off in mid-conversation to deal with something more interesting than me - they invariably return minutes later to resume talking at me without missing a beat.

The best way of dealing with this, I have found, is to simply order another caiprinha, smile and be a CCC person (Cool, Calm and Collected). No siree! Bore or no bore, I will be friendly. I shall be polite.

In truth, I am having a Great Night, so I don't really mind too much.

My head is swimming with the warm fuzz of the greatest liquor known to man: cachaca. I am engulfed in a combined alcohol and sugar buzz that feels, I conclude without any accurate basis of comparison whatsoever, like being embraced in the bosom of a oversized pair of breasts sitting atop a warm tumble dryer in mid-spin.

Malik arrives a little later. We are yet to know it but Malik and us, we are going to have some fun over the next few days. He will introduce us to a whole group of Rio expats (including, quite coincidentally, Elliot once again, although they don't know each other at this point). They will lead us astray. Including into a favela at 3am. Anyway, I digress.

My tacos arrive. They are spicy and spartan. I am reminded of Mexico again. Malik is talking about Ipanema and DJs. Mexico loses out and I tune in to Malik.

"I love coming to Brazil," Malik says in his booming baritone. "Everytime I get a chance to bring a DJ out here, I jump at it. I mean; what about that beach! What about the food! What about the party to be had!"

As well as being a man with a fun job (DJ management), he's also right. Rio is fun. Rio is Sydney's older sister, but better looking and more of a handful. Same sea, harbour, sun & fun concept. Much, much bigger scale.

Like Sydney, Rio cares a lot about what she looks like. She is a proud independent (amicable divorce some years ago) woman of mixed heritage. Young, fun and easy on the eye.

Compared to her baby sister though, Rio is less neurotic. Far wilder. Untamed. A little dangerous, even. She lets it all hang out. Let her in to show you a good time and she'll send you home to Mama with an itch you'll never be able to scratch.

Meanwhile, Christ (the Redeemer) stands arms spread wide, watching over her from above. Rio denizens says that the day the city stops her wild and wicked ways, when she finally gets down to some good old fashioned hard work, the Redeemer will clap.

Malik and I start to talk football. He's a Liverpool fan, but we can't all be perfect. Rachel, meanwhile, talks to Malik's friend, Corrally. Corrally teaches water polo and has the scars to prove it. Alex begins to juggle bottles. Three big, blonde Swedish guys viking into the bar at 100mph. Rachel recommends they read Steig Larsson's books. They teach us how to pronounce Swedish names properly. Stuff happens and nothing happens. We drink and eat and smile. Rio buzzes on nicely in the background.

At 4am, we head on to fresh pastures. Still, Rio keeps on going. And going. And going. She's like an energizer bunny with a samba wiggle, draped in yellow, green and blue. Wiggle, wiggle. Drums, drums. You can sleep when you're dead.

Far up on the hill, JC looks on,
not a clap in sight.


Photos from Rio can be perused here. Todo bom :)