Rio – Phil – Sept 7, 2006
My three best buddies since we were all together in the 5th grade—Earl Robinson, Pete Cicchine and Chris Jensen—arrived on schedule this morning to spend two weeks cruising the Brazilian coast with me aboard Indigo. From the airport, we travel by van directly to the boat for a big breakfast, including grits so they’ll feel at home (and me too). They are terrific guys, and their strong northwest Florida accents are music to my ears. When I was a kid living in Pensacola, all of us living within a few blocks of each other, I was called by my first two initials (P,B,) to distinguish me from my Dad, who had the same name. Just hearing that name is a delight and feels like I’m still back in high school with these guys. We reminisce about the good times we had, old friends, what we’ve done since and the like. Deep belly laughs flow easily and naturally, and I love it.
After breakfast, a tour guide I hired took us up Sugarloaf Mountain on a tram to view the city in all its glory on a gin-clear day, perfect weather. It’s Independence week-end here and the beaches are packed with locals. We have to skip a trip up the famed Corcovado Mountain due to long lines waiting to take the train to the top where stands an enormous statue of Christ watching over the city. After a drive through the tree-lined streets and beautiful parks and neighborhoods of Rio, we have lunch at Porcao Restaurant, sited on the waterfront of one of Rio’s many beaches. Filled with plenty of great food and too many cachacas – Brazil’s contribution to the bartender’s art – we then retire to the boat where, unwisely as it turns out, we continue to drink cachacas.
The stuff, distilled from sugar cane, is customarily consumed in a glass with mashed fruits of various sorts and a small amount of sugar. I prefer it with the fruit of the cashew tree, though the most typical fruit is lime. Others available at most bars include passion fruit, pineapple, mango and strawberries. One of us – and all deny responsibility – begins drinking it in shots, and the practice spreads like a bad disease. In short order, matters get out of control with Earl in the lead by a wide margin. Minus Earl, now in a deep coma, we head into town for light snacks at Devassa Bar and Belmonte Bar, both open air neighborhood places filled with locals and serving great food. At Belmonte, the crew delivers the now mildly recovered but at least conscious Earl to join up with us. After some walking around the area and lots of laughs, we retire to the boat utterly spent.