Brazilian pleasures

In Brazil there are many motels specializing in short-stays that are – how can I put this delicately? – romantic in nature. With alluring names like Swing, Alibi and Absinthe, these establishments offer pleasure-seeking couples a cosy haven far from nosy onlookers, with the right trappings: mirrors on the ceiling, seductive music, subdued lighting and a comfortable bed. (I know all this only through hearsay.)

It was such a romantic setting that Wallace entered on a blazing hot afternoon. As he walked into the motel room, he grunted with satisfaction. Pink curtains were drawn against the bright heat, the bed with red linen looked inviting and air conditioning was keeping the room deliciously cool. Only his companion was missing but she would be here soon. He walked over to the full-length mirror along the wall and liked what he saw.

“You handsome devil!” he said.

The door opened. He turned and took a sharp intake of breath. Rosa was standing just inside the doorway looking gorgeous. He moved towards her.

A few months later, as a direct consequence of this encounter, Wallace and Rosa became the proud parents of six healthy, tail-wagging puppies.

When I read about these new pleasure-motels in Brazil that cater to canine clients, I thought it was a joke because the dogs I’ve known have always been happy to conduct their love-making in the open: the diffident courting with delicate sniffs, the coy back-and-forth interchange (“Should we?”, “Now?”, “Yes!”, “Why not!”) and finally the unbridled action when we, as onlookers, would turn away in embarrassment.

Big mugs of beer

At midnight, soon after taking off from Singapore to Munich, I did the unthinkable: I declined dinner and went to sleep. I woke up at 4 a.m. fully refreshed. No, I’m not a high-flying banker who – after just four hours of sleep – gets up full of energy (and starts lying about the LIBOR rate). It was 4 a.m. in Munich. Exhibiting reverse jet lag, I had cunningly switched time zones in the night and slept ten hours.

Consequently, I boarded the 30-minute train from the airport to Munich Ostbahnhof with a spring in my step. A few minutes after checking into my hotel across the street, I was back at the front desk.

“Is everything OK, Sir?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes!” I said. “Show me a jogging route.”

The man looked at me with admiration as he reached for a map. “The hotel is here, Sir,” he said, circling the place in the map, “and here is the river with a park along its bank.”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“Just five kilometres, Sir. 20 minutes to get there and 40 for one round.”

Obviously I had impressed him more than required. I explained that I could not (a) cover five kilometres in 20 minutes or (b) run for 80 minutes in one go. Instead I asked him to direct me to a smaller green area much nearer to the hotel.