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Reg has breakfast with Nina Rhen and relates the bike story — the good, the bad and the ugly. But David, our friend from the chair/umbrella/beach bar service, has repaired his bike already with a new sturdy seat post. We're set to go!
Kate and Reg set out for this museum and quickly discover that our bike tires are soft. We walk a bit, ride a bit on soft tires, and after a few kilometers find a place that does tires by the side of the road. It's a dirt floor hovel that seems to specialize in thread bare used tires (tires that were probably tossed out of Mexico after being tossed out of the US and Canada).
The fellow is happy to inflate our tires and we tip him $2R. Reg has him tighten the seat post on his bike as it's already loose and wobbly. He rounds the nut with a wrench that is only "close" to the right size. But, with his help, we're on the road again. Such is the state of mechanics here in Recife.
We cross over two canals on this adventure. Recife is a port city, there's a big river and many canals draining into it and the port. Some people will say that Recife is the "Venice of Brazil" (on a later trip we're told Manuas is the "Paris of Brazil"). But these are hyperbole at best. The canals here are fetid black open sewers way worse than the waters in Venice. Road side auto repairs often dump used oil down the storm gutters which will eventually make their way into the canals, the river, the port and the ocean. If oil is scarce in Brazil why isn't it recycled? Recall how we were worried about the kid swimming in the port when we had the row boat trip yesterday! There's good reason for our concerns.
For us, this area is bleak and nothing like Canadian cities. It's the 3rd world in spades. That night the politicos at the conference opening spoke about how beautiful Recife is. If this is great, god keep me away from Sao Paulo. It is quite beautiful along the beach where we are, modern even luxurious, but you only have to walk a block or two away from the beach to find a whole other world.
But we soldier on and cross another polluted bridge where we're starting to think this bike trip might be a bad idea. It's hot, the wind will be against us when we return, the roads are busy with only marginal room for bikes. But we are not alone, we see several locals riding bikes. Sometimes with, sometimes against the traffic. We decide we'll head back home by a circular route heading into the old city and finding the bridge to Pina and thence to Bao Viagem.
However, we are lost. And just about the time we're trying to navigate our steps back a car abruptly pulls up with a man and a woman, Antonio and Fatima, who are about our age, who leap out and address us. They don't speak English and we're struggling with their Portugese. They seem to be asking directions to our hotel and the Boa Viagem Paixa (our beach). We finally figure it out. It turns out they are very concerned for our well being. We are in a dangerous neighborhood and they want to take us home. Right now!
In their defence just before we met these kind strangers we had gone down a side street where a man looked very concerned and motioned for us to turn around in a way that others couldn't see his signal to us. Kate had also noted some gang graffiti.
Antonio and Fatima insist that we simply must return to our hotel right now and they load our bikes into their car. They're quite forceful, we cannot decline. Kate is concerned that they are either a) stealing our bikes, or b) kidnapping us, or c) perhaps both! We have heard stories of tourists being forcibly taken to make ATM cash withdrawals and then "disposed of". But we agree to go with them. Reg and Antonio rode in their car, Kate and Fatima take a taxi we flag down. And it's back to our hotel. It's actually a fairly long ride back and we only vaguely know where it is.
Fatima and Kate arrive first and Kate had to stand there while Fatima went to every doorman and tells them where they had found us, that it was just terrible and how hotels ought to better look out for naive tourists like us. She didn't figure that was enough and went to the front desk where she berated everyone there for not taking better care of us!
Reg and Antonio arrive soon after with the bikes. We four hug and kiss and we are especially thankful for their kindness. We offer a drink at the bar but they refuse. They do proceed to tell all the hotel staff to watch out for these feckin' eejits from Canada. Fatima, gave us her card (as above) and told us to call — however with the language barrier we didn't see the point. We are however grateful for their kindness.
Later one of the English speaking staff took us aside to warn us that some parts of Recife are quite dangerous and that one ought not to be there. Especially with an expensive camera and such. "Oh thank you very much — why didn't anyone say so when we asked about buying bikes in first place?". Likewise, the conference organizers should have made an effort to document that kind of information. E.g., "When in Recife do see this and that ... But, beware of this and that..."
Anyways, suitably chastened, we showered, rested a bit and went back to the beach for a drink at David and Macelo's. A reasonably safe place we now know quite well and it's just across the road. How much trouble can we get into there?
Later that day we took our bikes down the beach about a mile or so to the craft market where Kate bought more souvenirs (Reg asks, "Isn't Pitu Pinga at only $2.50R a quart good enough?). Reg bought some sandals for $30R (he swears they were originally offered at $25R and then had to dicker them down from $35R). These sandals are made of old car tires — now we know what happens after they finally give up the ghost.
We meet up with Kate's gang in the hotel bar before dinner. They're drinking caipirinskis and caipirinhas made with a better quality white rum rather than the cheap Pitu Pinga on the beach. And we trust the ice at the hotel bar. But, perhaps we were wrong — bad ice might explain our rolling tummies the next day. Of course that might be explained by the fruit at the buffet, or maybe the limes on the beach, or just maybe by the long night of drinking and carrying on!
The hotel restaurant, where the gang of us share a dinner, is Italian and very good. We have some Botticelli Cabernet Sauvignon which we had picked up at the nearby supermarket. Reg has an entree chicken smothered in a creme sauce (like how the French would do it). He craves some grilled food (we did have grilled shrimp one day on the beach with David and Macelo) and has no need of more "MN hot dish".
The conference starts at 8:00pm that evening (9:00 Brazil time) and has some Balé folk dancing with dancers in costumes (ballet without the tutus). Reg has had enough and heads off to bed early. Kate ducks out early as well, at 11:00pm! She wants to avoid the rush of 500 conference attendees all rushing for the 3 elevators.
The elevators are a constant joy at the conference with plenaries on the penthouse level (20th floor) and work shops on the 2nd level. And, you always have to go back to another level to get your ticket, ear-phone, pass, etc. that ought to have been included in the conference registration packet in the first place. Kate found that impossibly frustrating.
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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