An Evening With Frank . . Or Pavarotti

Tuesday 20 March

This morning dawned with blue skies and sunshine – perhaps the thunderstorm had washed all the clouds away. After breakfast we decided to check the emails, but after several failed attempts to connect to the internet – we could connect to the hotel WIFI, but not any further – we sought the help of the business manager. He checked his lap top and that wouldn’t connect either. After about an hour of rebooting the system and checking all four aerials, he finally solved the problem – probably a loose connection. After all that effort, we only had a couple of brief emails to read anyway.

As they were still working in the next room, we decided to walk into town and visit the bank, as we would need money for our meal tonight – now being cash only spenders. It was very hot as we sauntered along by the sea and the town seemed extremely quiet, as not many of the shops were open. We found the bank, further up than MacDonalds, but the ATMs were not working – a Brazilian informed us that the Bank of Brazil also had the same problem. We would need to return with our passports, if we were to obtain any cash. Making our way back to the hotel, we found a small booth in the main square with another ATM (we hadn’t noticed this before), with a queue outside – always a good sign that money is being dispensed. We waited and saw others extracting notes from the slot, and when it was our turn, we had the option of English instructions – another helpful aid. This time we were successful. To celebrate we decided to lunch at the buffet restaurant again, where the salads were just as varied and tasty as on our previous visit, and the beers were cold.

I had seen some black shoes I liked on our last visit to town, and now that we had cash, I could investigate further. We found the shop – next to Don Juan’s where we had a reservation for this evening. Unfortunately, shoes seem to be much like clothes here – the shops only stock up to size 36 Brazilian – that’s 35 European and I think about a 3 ½ British. Not all the ladies here can have that small feet and it’s one of the first times my size 4 ½ has felt huge. We wandered around for a short while, but most of the shops were still closed – perhaps its half day closing on a Tuesday – and they would open again this evening.

By the time we arrived back at the hotel, huge dark clouds were gathering out across the bay, and we had only been on the balcony for a few minutes, when the rains came. More huge drenching drops that had us scooting back inside. It was only 15.00 but it was like night, with lightning streaks shattering the black clouds almost continuously for more than half an hour before slowing to more occasional flickers. We felt quite confident at this stage that by the time we left the hotel tonight to eat downtown the storm would be long gone.

But we never saw daylight again today – the black clouds sat over the bay, and the rain fell in rivulets, bouncing off the end of the balcony floor. By 18.00 we were beginning to get a little panicy that we may have a wet trip to the restaurant – and we hadn’t got an umbrella. By 19.00 we thought the rain was easing a little - or was that just wishful thinking? We had spent the afternoon composing some longer emails and after readying ourselves for an evening out, we decided to risk a quick visit to the lounge to post them. Colin went to use the room safe, and it appeared to have shut down completely – nothing showing in the code box as he punched in the numbers – but it would have to wait till tomorrow now, or we would be late for dinner. By the time we took the computer back to the room the rain had stopped – just. It was time then to leave for our evening appointment with a tango show.

On the way out of the hotel, whilst dropping the key at reception, Sebastien, who had booked the restaurant for us last week, informed us that the show tonight would be a singer, not the two tango dancers as advertised. This was a shame as we had been looking forward to comparing the Brazilian tango with the one we had seen in Argentina. But he assured us the meat was good and provided us with an umbrella as a guard against further rain on our return.

The walk down the hill was very hazardous – I was wearing my only pair of evening shoes (?) and the large cobble bricks were wet and slick after the downpour. Colin held on to me as I slipped and slithered – muttering something about silly shoes – and we made it safely to the bottom. The overhanging trees dripped and several icy droplets ran down my back. The route along the esplanade was a bit like a march of the soldier ants – couples in close order, trying to avoid the puddles and the few other people walking in the opposite direction. We all separated at the start of the “high street”, which had been coned off, so that it was pedestrians only. Don Juan’s was just a short distance up the road, but we were still avoiding puddles as we arrived.

We were shown to a small table on the ground floor by a lady “receptionist” and a waiter. Once settled we chose some cocktails before studying the menu – an abridged version of the one shown outside – with lots of meat and salads, and of course rice. We both chose steaks – different cuts – cooked rare, and they arrived as huge slabs of meat, perfectly cooked “rare”. Also on the plate was a foil-wrapped baked onion – which proved very tasty. The portions of potatoes and salad were also hungry man-size, and neither of us could finish all the food. There was a large open barbeque near the door where we could see the jovial “chef” - wearing a white beret with his white “cook’s” uniform, a tiny ponytail and with a slightly inebriated look to his face - cooking chunks of lamb and chicken as well as beef. He definitely seemed to be enjoying himself – he reminded me of Colin cooking barbeques at home – I must get him a beret.

At 21.30 an older man – obviously the singer - stood on the high balcony looking down on most of the diners, and to the accompaniment of his young pianist, sang strong emotional Brazilian (love?) songs, which many of those around us, joined in. The man was probably around 50ish, not large, with his jet black hair scraped back and plaited in a long queue (like the old-fashioned Chinese style). On looking more closely he could have been of oriental descent, and would easily have passed as a long-ago emperor if dressed in rich elaborate robes – not the jeans and suede waistcoat he was wearing tonight. . I suggested that perhaps he was our equivalent of Frank Sinatra, or even Abba, as everyone seemed to know the words, but Colin thought the passion with which he sang made him more like Pavarotti. Whoever he resembled, we had had a thoroughly entertaining evening.

It was just spitting with rain as we walked back to the hotel – enough for me to put up the umbrella, and I found it was easier negotiating the hill climb up than down. The restaurant and bar were already closed, as we realized it was past midnight – time spent enjoying yourselves definitely passes swiftly.