We spent a good few hours on the roof and I burnt my feet.
Then we caught a bus to Ipanema Beach. Nobody chatted us up this time. (I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed about that). We had lunch (fish stew with rice) in the bar / restaurant where the song ‘Girl from Ipanema’ was written. And, of course, a caipirinha to wash it down. Both were good but the waiter ruined it by waiting for his tip (demanding cash as opposed to paying service via card) and making us both feel awkward.
Shortly afterwards, we had a wonder along Ipanema beach. It was such a gorgeous beach and much quieter than Copacabana yesterday – no doubt because today’s Monday.
We caught the bus back after having one more caipirinha “for the road” (literally).
For our last night out (boo), we tried to find Centro Cultural Carioca but – as with every other cool bar on a Monday in Rio – it was closed. So we went to Garrafa instead. It was packed and the food was good, and by the third caiprihna (on top of the earlier seventeen), we were over the fact that our last night in South America was the most pants night of them all since everyone here adopts Garfield’s mode on on Monday.
Word of warning; do not order a Pisco Sour in Brazil. It was way too eggy. I am not eggagerating. Not at all eggcelent. (Sorry)
The food was lush though. We had filet mignon (beef) and cheesy, mushroomy rice. Best. Grub. Ever.
The waiter took a shine to me and gave me a white rose (made out of a receipt). He came over, pretended to wipe the table, and said ‘I – like – you – Do – you – like – me – Kiss – ’. All in one breath. Then he kept trying to offer me one of his balls. Rice balls, I mean. And would sweep by with an ‘I love you’ as I sweetly declined.
Oh, we did actually try a rice ball. It was.. well, it was a ricey ball.