Kind hearted Brazilians, a drunken Englishman and a girl named Death in the twist and turns of my visit to Shenanigans Irish Pub located near the beaches of Ipanema in Rio de Janeiro.

This is not the type of story you might often hear about in travel tales, because who wants to admit to going to a touristy spot where nearly everyone speaks English and it’s almost indistinguishable from some place back home, minus the collage of accents. Truth be told I didn’t mind this place when I wanted a stout beer or just didn’t want to struggle so much to communicate with whoever filled the bar stool next to me. I was never homesick during my 4 months in Rio but I was communication sick- that is sick of communicating with the same people all the time because they were the only English speakers, well fluent ones. If you have traveled along side someone, you probably have had this moment where it isn’t that you are tired of the person but need a different type of conversation, perhaps a different perspective.  So let me tell you a monkey’s tale of three very different experiences, all of which helped shaped my outlook on Rio’s Cariocas.

My first night visiting Shenanigans came after reading up on it online with my fellow American roommates. We decided to give it a go and see if we can truly maneuver the bus system at night. Thanks to a helpful bus driver, we arrived safely at our destination. We plopped down in a little corner and before we knew it, we were chit chatting it up with some Cariocas that we were bumping elbows with. I like to think it’s because I’m cute and cuddly, but really my two blond female roommates probably had more to do with it. We ate, drank and told stories for what seemed like hours, until finally it was time to head out. Our newfound friends helped us to locate a taxi who tried to charge us 5x the usual rate. After some arguing we went off to find a new taxi, the second driver only wanted to rip us off 3x the usual rate. These Cariocas weren’t having it and finally located two taxis so we could all ride together. They made sure we safely arrived at our home in Botafogo. After they dropped us off, they refused to let us pay our portion. Then they squeezed into one taxi and headed off to their own home. They never gave us more than a name or asked for anything but ours in return.

You ever meet that piss drunk stereotype of a tourist that makes you hope and pray he is of a different nationality so that he doesn’t ‘represent’ you. Well, my first encounter was with a drunken Englishman who after barging into the bathroom shouted to all those around, asking how to say ‘Let’s go back to my place’ or ‘How about a blow job’ in Portuguese. Yeah, my thoughts exactly. This belligerent tourist clearly was pissing off everyone around: tourist, locals and the staff. Thus, he quickly found himself getting escorted out the bar. Three carioca men who were at the bar also happened to be on their way out when this man hit the wall – literally. He then proceeded to pass out on the stone sidewalk and make that awesome drool gurgle noise of a half coherent man. These three carioca men called an ambulance and made sure some of the watchful eyes in the park across the street didn’t dare come over to pick pocket this man. A few other locals walked out of the bar and began to argue with the three men on how they should leave him be and let him learn a lesson. But they stood by until the ambulance picked him up.

It was a cool night and I ventured off by myself ending up at Shenanigans chit chatting up a few locals and an Irishman who loved to talk – but he had that cool accent so I was kind of interested too. That is until I knocked over a huge glass ashtray; which landed on the foot of a girl next to me, yeah smooth operator style! After apologizing profusely, I learned her name was Death (ok so it was really Deth but close enough I mean come on!) The crowd on the balcony came and went but we chit chatted together as I pawned over what a friend told me earlier that week. “If you don’t kiss her right away she won’t think you’re interested.” While the validity of this comment is questionable let alone a stereotype, I decided why not, I haven’t done more than hug a Brazilian woman as of yet. After a mini make-out session we were kicked out of the bar as it was closing, each going our own way. Her friend hinting that we should visit such and such hotel, I decided to leave it for another day. I never called her but then again a sober morning will get you to question dating a girl named Death or Deth or whatever exactly it was.

What did all this teach me, well for one that not all locals who hang out at touristy spots are scammers and creepers. The other thing is to not to underestimate the hospitality and openness the world can offer you even in a large city like Rio and even with a girl named Death.

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Check out one of these related posts

• A Tale of Two Fairs
• The Real Rio
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Tags: bar, Brasil, Brazil, ipanema, ireland, irish, pub, Rio, Rio de Janeiro, shenanigans, speak english