Lost in Sorocaba

(by Chris Haines)
We have continued our exhaustive research into the eateries and hostelries of Sorocab : for myself, once I have found a couple of congenial joints, I am happy to stick to them. However Sean is a Great Adventurer, and has winkled out of the Emerson people a few more places to patronise. We tried somewhere called Mandala - finding it was easy....(we got a taxi). It was a most agreeable place, and our timing was impeccable - 15 mins before the rush - and it was full of normal people having an evening meal. There was no music, as it would have been drowned out by the talking. We had a communal starter called Fritas con bacon....not difficult to guess the main components, but it hit all the right food buttons: bacon, potato and fried. I had Espaguette Puttanesca........ rather overwhelmingly puttanescan, and unfinishable thanks to the fritas. The shine was taken off the place by the waiter's clumsy and unsuccessful attempts to con a tip out of Sean on top of the 10% service charge...... then it was an attempt on foot to discover a place callled Salome's, based on Enrique's (one of the Emerson guys) vague descriptions and our hotel issue map.

               After some time wandering round various quiet back streets with poor street lighting, worse pavements, and no sight of anything that looked like a bar, we sought the help of a couple of women. They fortuitously spoke English, and one of whom generously offered to drive us there. This was a stroke of luck, not least because the number of left and right turns would have been unrememberable....... it also proved Enrique's directions were considerably wide of the mark. Of course, when we got there, the place was packed, and they were only letting anyone in when someone left...... as we were rather thirsty, we gave up and successfully navigated our way to the Espresso again.
To get in we had to go through a strange rigmarole of offering ID, having our photos taken, and being issued with a card with a magnetic strip: after that it was handshakes all round with the waiters - soon it will be first name terms - and a thirst quenching beer. In Brazil the beer is served as several bottles in a bucket of ice, with the bottles being opened skillfully with one hand by waiters who fill your glass continually. This makes it very difficult to gauge consumption...........until you stand up.
        As it was raining by now, and also rather close to our bedtimes, we organised a taxi, jumped in, and said "Transamerica!". Our driver nodded, and whizzed off.......the wrong way. At first we thought this was due to the one-way system, but after several opportunities to change direction had been missed, we re-emphasised our destination somewhat forcefully, adding a few other clues, and he reversed direction. He'd got about BR15 (say £6) on the meter by this point, but as we went past the Espresso (going the right way this time) he zeroed it...... what a star! He even rounded the BR 11:20 fare down to 10 to avoid change. So Brazilian taxi drivers are paragons of virtue, honesty and generosity...... or at least, one of them is.