I checked out of the Sofitel with a heavy heart and a far heavier stomach – managing just an omelette for breakfast. As well as a bacon sandwich, three sausage sandwiches, nine slices of ham, twelve slices of cheese, eighteen chocolate covered croissants, a fruit salad, a brioche and a bowl of cornflakes with yogurt.
I re-joined the great unwashed for a bus journey to our final destination of Rio. We arrived in the sprawling metropolis without a room (all four hotels we had emailed were full) and after a fruitless hour an old lady approached and informed us that she had an apartment to rent that was 'Much nicer than a hotel' and as an added bonus it was only three streets away!
All that glitters is not gold of course, and we soon realised that quite a lot had been lost in translation, it was indeed only three streets away plus another ten. Which is annoying at the best of times, when it's boiling hot and you are carrying everything you own it is infuriating. It was only exhaustion that was stopping me from beating her to death with my guide book.
To top things off we soon discerned that what she actually said was not 'Hotel' but 'Much nicer than a hovel', which it was, the place would be best described as filthy, not as bad as a hovel or indeed a slum. I sent her packing with a flea in her ear, which would no doubt rejoin the several hundred in the kitchen later that night.
We finally found somewhere to stay and, all thoughts of the luxury of the Sofitel banished, landed squarely back to reality whilst enjoying a delicious Arabic banquet – chicken doner and chips.
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