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Renting bicycles, from the hotel or nearby, did not appear to be a possibility. Kate talked to one of the staff at the front desk about buying bikes and he said you could buy them for about $120R (i.e., $60CA) at the nearby shopping centre, or, if we went down town, we could get bikes for about $60R. So, of course, we decided to go downtown, get some cheap bikes and see the city while we were at it. It's not far, perhaps 10km or so. And we have the cabbies figured out. How hard can it be?
We bumped into Nina at breakfast and she was interested in sharing a cab downtown with us. And so we did. The cabbie seemed to take us a very long way around (possibly due to the one way streets) and dropped us off at the far end of what seems to be the "main street". We walked along this very crowded, very busy little street — it's very much like very much like Nuevo Laredo or Juarez MX. There were a ton of street vendors set up with carts and stands selling fruit, batteries, coconuts, cashews, corn on the cob, plastic trinkets, clothes, leather goods and much more. We were surprised by the number of stalls selling fake plastic flowers — you're in a country where one would expect to have an abundance of real ones!
Haltingly we asked for directions from the Poletizia (police) we met on the street. They were very much present, although not as many as on Boa Viagem (our tourist area), and then we asked another fellow we met who spoke English and French. He said he was a tour guide for Olinda (that's an historic area just north of Recife) and that we should look him up. However, he sent us on a wild goose chase looking for the bicycle shops so it seems unlikely we'll seek him out as a guide.
We saw lots of old Mexican looking stucco churches and after asking directions from a woman in a department store we ultimately found our way to the city block where all the bike shops were to be found. This turned out to be very near where the cabbie had dropped us off. Very near where we had started.
Nina parted to explore on her own once we found the shops.
There were several bike shops in this area and the cheapest, for a one speed mountain styled bike, with no extras, seemed to be about $105R each (about $60CA). So we bought two, one each. Plus sunglasses and locks for a total of $R217 which went on our MasterCard. There was much confusion and some misunderstanding (we don't speak Portugese, they didn't speak English) as we paid. It turned out the clerk was offering to split/finance the bill, $72R per month, so we wouldn't get charged that huge amount all at once! That's an indication of the poverty here which we haven't talked about much as yet.
Once we had the bikes, the dilemma then was — where to go? The streets in this part of town are nuts: crowded, one-way, dense traffic, no fun. So we headed for the canal edge of downtown with the intention of working our way to the old city. That's a largeish island. On maps it's labelled as Recife. That's where "Mile Marker Zero" is and also Rua do Bom Jesus which you'll see mentioned several times in this blog.
On the way we happened across the train station and decided to go in and look around. Kate is fond of train stations, not so fond of churches and cathedrals. We had no sooner locked up our bikes when a well-meaning Poletizia came over and said, "Don't leave you bikes locked up like that. Those locks are useless, someone can snip them in a minute and your bikes will be gone." This is just perfect, we have brand new bikes to tourist around but can't stop anywhere without losing them! Feck!
We stopped at the Casa da Cultura — an old prison turned into a cultural centre where you can buy all kinds of crafts, linens, lace, art, wind chimes and much more. We bought a doll for Brenda, wind chimes for Cindy, a couple of inlaid whistles for Paula and Eva, and two tee-shirts for our bicycling adventures since we hadn't brought many and it was really hot and sweaty. It's tropical weather. You're at the equator.
We continued on with our bikes avoiding the streets and navigating dirty busy sidewalks where there are all sorts of vendors who have set up shop — shoe repair, key cutters, carvers and the ubiquitous street food stands.
A pretty young schoolgirl of about 10-12years came up to us and says, in flawless English, "What is your name?" She got to practice her English on us and we respond (one of the few phrases we know), "Como se chammas?" A young boy with her, in halting English, says "Welcome to Brazil". What a treat to meet these kids. That certainly brightened our day.
We wend our way to Recife Antigua (the old original city on the Recife Island) by bridges from Recife Velho ("velho" means old, "antigua" means gosh even older) and find our way to the Rua do Bom Jesus where the night scene and several good restaurants are located. Kate has read about a good restaurant in the area — she wants to hit all the good ones recommended in our Fodor's guide. We stop there to refresh with some water (god it's hot), a near beer (how did Reg make that mistake) and some god awful sickly sweet white wine (the Vinho de Casa) that's probably made with the Muscat grape (it's just too sweet and grapey, it's like Welch's grape juice). The highly recommended dish is a Brazilian "hot dish" (cf. how to speak MN) with shrimp, coconut, spinach, pumpkin and god knows what else. It's a good thing that we had ordered only the one dish to share — it's huge!
Kate is worried our bikes might get stolen as we can't watch them from the restaurant. Fortunately they're still there when we leave.
At the restaurant there are fellows who shine shoes for the patrons — there's that contrast between the very rich and the very poor. The shoe shine fellow has ratty shoes falling apart and uses his bare hands to apply the polish. The posh patron sits there and sips a martini. Such a contrast.
We encounter another street urchin selling magnifying glasses (like one associates with Sherlock Holmes). That's not the kind of the product one would normally search out on the Rua do Bom Jesus. "Oh, I think I'll go out to dinner and pick up a couple of magnifying glasses." Other guys, for a tip, will help you park your car: "Ok, Ok, backup, Ok [Crunch], Ok stop."
Now we need to return back to Boa Viagem and our hotel on the beach. Let me try to describe the area (there's a map/photo in the album which might help). Rua do Bom Jesus is on the "Recife" island furthest to the north. Also called Recife Antigua. To the west, across several small bridges is Recife Vehlo (and the São José area) and across the large span of water, the mouth of the river, is the Pina area where we can follow the beach south to our hotel. There are some large bridges to the very west end of Recife Vehlo that cross the water to Pina and we suppose we can cross there.
However, at Mile Marker Zero (Praça do Marco Zero, officially Praça Rio Branco) we meet Lopez, who speaks good English (e.g. "Where are you from?", "Canada", "I'm from Brazil" ... I'm not surprised). He offers to take us and our bikes in a row boat across to the long narrow breakwall at the spit end at Pina and Brasília Teimosa, for only $20R. That's a very good deal for us and about a week's wages around here for him. We are relieved to have this solution.
Lopez, is the "finder", he has a buddy who has the rowboat that takes us across. It's about 15 minutes of rowing to a small monument/park area on the spit/breakwall. This is Parque de Esculturas Francisco Brennand. The monuments are very weird, there are bird like creatures with busts — nipples and all. He also speaks good English, and, like Lopez, he asks where we're from and again we find out he's from Brazil. He speaks good English because he works at the harbor (Recife is a busy port city). His chums are quiet and one of the younger ones was bathing/swimming in the harbor. The harbor would be very polluted, more on that later.
The long bike ride along the spit/breakwall to the Brasília Teimosa barrio at the start of the spit, or top of the Pina area, is uneventful. There are no tourists, but when we get to the end of the spit/breakwall there are some people swimming and bathing in the ocean. Probably kids from the barrio. The are some rusting hulks of old barges and some marina-like places along the sea side but they are all very small. At this end of the breakwall is a squatters' barrio. Very poor with dirt streets; we wonder do they even have running water? The poverty is so thick, so abysmal it feels like it just sticks to your teeth, or perhaps it's like you've just stepped in some dog shit and can't shake it off your shoes. It's awful and we just can't get out of there fast enough.
But of course this is the place where Reg's bike collapses. The seat post bends like a piece of licorice — a cheap bike with a thin steel seat post. I guess you get what you pay for. Perhaps it might have been strong enough for a kid but not strong enough for a 220lb lug like Reg. He straightens it out as best he can but it's basically fucked and so too are we — you don't want to stop and ask for help in this neighborhood!
We struggle home along the sea wall promenade from Pina towards Boa Viagem until we meet a bunch of Poletizia (probably the third or fourth group we encounter along the way). They stop us and the one, who speaks good English, tells us we can't ride our bikes along the pedestrian sea wall promenade — we have to take our lives into our hands along the Avenue Boa Viagem. It's a busy, fast road, one way, and the wrong way for us! You've got to be kidding. We're riding against the wind, on a broken bicycle at walking speed and you want us to do what? Reg is a bear, a mean tired angry bear. More than a little hot, very tired and really pissed. Kate says, at that moment, he's impossible to live with.
But we make it back to the hotel and go to the beach for a drink and to unwind from the previous adventures. Reg talks with David (the large black fellow who speaks good English and has a beach side chair, umbrella, and drinks service on the beach directly across from our hotel). We ask David to help with the bike. If he can repair the bike we'll give it to him next Sunday before we leave. He seems to understand what we're after and we leave the broken bike with him to fix. Which he does, thankfully, by the very next day!
Several days later David tells Reg it cost him $10R to fix the bike and Reg explains again that he can have the bike on Sunday. He seems to understand but I suppose being down $10R is a bit of a hit. We become regulars with David and Macelo at their beach side service. More so with David as his English is pretty good. He tells us he's been to Milan in Italy recently to visit family (he must be doing well to do that!). He likes working on the beach and says he likes the pretty girls in string bikinis but loves a good woman. He asks how long we have been married (we 22 years, he 18 years with 6 kids). He seems to have a good life.
He makes us caipirinhas with vodka, (God knows what's in those bottles — they refill them with the cheapest stuff they can find) and boasts about the quality of his ice. I'm already a bit queasy. We have been avoiding ice as our way of staying well. They scoop out the ice with their bare hands, the same hands used when they pee against the breakwall. There are no toilets, no place to wash up, and their personal hygiene is a worry — we don't want a stomach bug!
An aside: Caipirinksi, caipiroska, or caipivodka is a cocktail that is similar to a caipirinha, but prepared with vodka instead of pinga/cachaça.
There are beach bars that also serve pina coladas made and served with fresh coconuts. But we're mainly drinking caipirinhas and sometimes the local beer which comes in quart sized bottles.
For dinner that day we again walk over to the nearby Tasca Restaurante/Cozinha Portuguesa (the Fodor's recommendation) only to again find that it's closed. So again we taxi to Bargaco (of the night before) where we have quite a struggle with a Brazilian Chardonnay — it has turned and smells like Reg's home-made rot. After several false starts (sorry, we're out of that one) we have the same Marco Liugi we had the night before. It's very nice in the crispy sauvignon blanc style and dated 2002 (sic!). Don't give me any of that old wine, I want the fresh stuff!
An aside: Wine is usually dated by the year the grapes are harvested. The harvest in Europe is happening soon, but not for a while yet. I don't expect to see wines dated 2002 until at least 2003 at the earliest.
Our dinner for two this evening is a repeat of the hot dish we had for lunch earlier that day. In that respect rather disappointing. It's deja vu all over again. With rice it was quite filling and more than we could eat. The rain came up while we were at dinner. It was blowing hard and the rain was visible in the street lights. But it never got very wet inside and it didn't last long.
We are again seated by the garden/hedge and periodically a cat would go dashing by. Not begging, just passing through. It was a skinny scruffy young thing who probably lives on the leavings of the restaurant. We saw lots of cats scrounging in the garbage as we left to go home by taxi.
The cabbie didn't have a meter in his car but charged the usual amount. On Sundays cabbies charge twice as much — go figure. The cab we took from the hotel had no muffler and made a motor cycle like buzz as he squeezed into lanes not meant for man nor beast.
These notes are from a densely detailed travel log we kept at the time. Kate recently discovered it in August of 2026 and I have transcribed with minor edits, corrections and redactions so as to not embarrass the living ....
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