Rainy Sunday in Rio

It is in my point of inspiration, Cafecito cafe in Santa Teresa, that I am writing these words.

On a rainy day in Rio (and those days have been plenty), it is very hard to find inspiration. The natives (cariocas) are hiding in their houses or crowding the shopping malls or cinemas and all I want to do is stay at home under the covers and sleep sleep and sleep until the rain will stop. But it doesn’t so I force myself to brush my teeth, get dressed, put on my scarf and closed-toe shoes (remember, this is supposed to be the middle of the summer), grab the damn umbrella, and eject myself into the wet and gloomy street.

I grab a taxi and give directions to the surprisingly young and handsome driver who says he knows the place. A ride that normally takes 10 minutes, ends up taking forever and as I lookup my location on google maps I discover he is taking me on a gringo tour and I want to kill him. But I can’t, nor can’t I leave the taxi since we’re in the middle of a mountain road. So I politely tell him to follow my GPS and once we arrive, I give him a lecture in my broken Portuguese. He blames his GPS and I say “I don’t care, you’re the taxi driver and not me”, “me neither”, he says, but then realizing how it sounds he adds:” I mean I haven’t been one forever”. I want to kill him once again but I politely wish him a good afternoon and step out again into a rainy day, but this time in my happy place, Santa Teresa.

I am eating Feijoada and drinking my freshly squeezed juice, when a samba band in a bar across the street starts playing. Getting out of the house was totally worth it.

Next time: Boss’ 40th birthday party or why one shouldn’t invite hicks to his or her posh birthday party.

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