For a few days now, one of the cakes at breakfast has had the label of “Bolo Inglés”, meaning English Cake. The first one kind of looked like a plain vanilla cake, but I’ve never heard of it. Today’s English Cake is a strawberry one, again not the first thing that springs to mind in regards to England. Wikipedia says an English Cake is a fruit cake, like Christmas Cake but these sure as hell were not that. And no, slapping a strawberry with the (I’ve just realised) stalk still attached doesn’t count, and is just plain nasty.

Were were off to visit Louie’s uncle today, for some sort of outing to a club. We had no other information about the day other than that. Apparently what I thought a club was, and what Louie knew what it was is very different, so I was pretty much unprepared. Addto this a fucking harrowing drive through the city on ram packed roads, detours and crap Google directions. Then I learned this club was pretty much back near the hotel, and we could have just Ubered there. Let just say I declined to drive everyone there and back through that nightmare, and we went in his uncles car.

The club turned out to be a beach club, which is common in Brazil but was a completely new experience to me. Cue statements of “but you knew we were going to a club, why didn’t you wear your togs and jandals” “I didn’t know that the hell a club was, why would I wear jandals to a club” etc.

Anyway, this is the club of which I am now familiar with. Apparently they are common here. I’m afraid I might have sounded a bit elitist when I asked if the gate to the beach was a private beach area. I was simply curious because I didn’t know, but it probably didn’t translate well. It was a well appointed, and being the AABB Associação Atlética Banco do Brasil, it had plenty of sporting type activities, none of which I partook in. I’ll claim it’s because I didn’t want to die in the 30c+ temps, but really it’s because I didn’t want to die doing physical exertion.

I was delighted at the lunch menu to see it offered a Frango Salada, being a chicken salad. This is what arrived however, which is a chicken parmigiana, massively coated in cheese. The entire plate was covered in food, and of course the mountain of damn rice and chips. Louie ended up with one too, and to the horror of the others started eating from the plate, forgetting here you put it onto another plate. Because Brazil.

Anyway, we questioned the ancient waiter drinks guy and they argued in Portuguese for a bit, mostly with him saying he brought chicken, what’s the problem. He eventually returned with the bowl of mostly onions, some sliced tomato and a little bit of lettuce. There’s ya salad.

It turned out to be quite an exclusive club, with some camera shy ex-pat celebrity guests in attendance.

Our hosts were quite concerned that what they assumed to be a fairly soft gringo would have to walk on the hot concrete with bare feet, and tried to make me wear theirs. A childhood in Hawkes Bay with summers (and winters) spent in bare feet had me testing then laughing at their “hot” surfaces. My feet barely sizzled as I discreetly wiped a tear. It really wasn’t that hot, and it was such a great feeling walking about the beach in bare feet. My selfie camera on my phone is rooted, but this gives you a look at the by far whitest person on the beach, with Louie a close second. These people are tanned.

This is just down and up the coast from the other beaches we’ve been to so it was more of the same. Lovely sandy beaches, gloriously warm water, gentle waves and slightly silty water.

This guy spent the entire time we were there walking up and down the beach selling his wares. They were tubes of something hot, given the bucket had a built in charcoal hole. He was carrying a bag of possibly seafood, not sure about that either but it does put in to perspective of how lucky we are. Here we are on a holiday half way across the world, and this is how he makes a living without any luxuries or support. I did see him earlier in the day, which made me laugh. For Louie and I to get into the club we had to be vouched for by Louie’s uncle, then we were given wrist bands to identify us as allowed. Shortly after the guy below was let in the gates and wandered through selling his mystery meats to people. Top security here.

Luzimar had gone to visit a relative elsewhere in João Pessoa, so after we all got back to the hotel we headed out for dinner again. Since last night’s visit was so great we went back to the food court again. It was heaving with people, the Saturday night crowd was in. This place is open 6 days a week and apparently is pretty busy each night. I wish we had something like this, especially with the variety on offer.

We ended up having a fairly brown meal, as usual. First up were some hotdogs which were great. Not Costco great, but happy with them. Then we had coxinhas, frango and queijo this time. Then were the pastels, carne and mixed. The mix was ham and cheese, so that was kind of technically correct but a bit ordinary. Everything was good, but we realised very quickly what a mistake we had made, and got sick of fried food very quickly. There was a fruit juice or two drunk, but no greens were to be found.

We are on to our last day in João Pessoa tomorrow, then off to Búzios. We aren’t entirely sure how we are getting to there from the Rio airport yet, we have a couple of plans but nothing confirmed. It’s only a 2 1/2 hour drive, what could go wrong?