One of the best things about Brazil is the food. They love to eat meat. Not wussy meat like pâté. I’m talkin’ huge slabs of beef and pork hanging from steel skewers that looked like the instruments of the animal’s demise. It’s a guy’s paradise.
We visited many churrascaria,
which is, in essence, an all-you-can-eat-meat-fest-that-pushes-the-
boundaries-of-gluttony restaurant. It’s great.
Well into our stay
we paid the price for our gluttony though. One
night we hailed a taxi, and we quickly surmised that we needed more than
one. Trying to be cost effective we put
as many of the littler people in our only private car and the three biggest guys
into one of the taxis. Guess where I
As our taxi was
following the caravan we rounded a corner and rising before us was a pretty
steep hill. With a stop light at the top
and the front cars of our caravan waiting at it, our driver hesitated a small
distance from the base of the incline. I
looked over at him and noticed two things. He had a look of concern on his face, and he too had visited many churrascaria.
The light turned
The other cars sped away.
Our driver gunned the engine and tried to build up as much momentum before ascending the hill. EEEEEERRRRRRrrrrrrr . . . rrrr. . . rr . . .
We didn’t make
it. The four of us churrascaria devotees
broke the back of that poor little horsepower challenged taxi.
Half-way up the hill we had to throw the
ballast (us) over board to lighten the load. He eventually made it to the top where we packed back in and sped off to
catch up with the caravan.
I’m currently on a diet and have a restraining order against me from all Brazilian taxis.