For the weekend, we had some options on the table. We could take a road (train) trip to the beach for one day or we could walk from Central Park to the Brooklyn Bridge on Saturday when they closed down Park Avenue for this purpose. Or we could do both. Or we could do neither. Which we did.
The forecast for Saturday was gloomy. 70% chance of torrential downpour, a light-show in the sky with a booming orchestra, and hot & steamy temperature when it wasn't raining.
Although a five mile walk from the park to the bridge on hot concrete and little shade sounded like pigs in mud, considering the weather we decided to pass on that this time around and instead dedicated the day to the indoors, doing laundry, watching football, and trying to stay dry.
Amazingly, we did stay dry. Probably because it never rained, not even a drop! No lightning, no thunder, nothing. Just hot, humid, disgusting temperatures. By 10:30 at night, I had a case of cabin fever and was cursing the gods for not quenching my thirst for water from the sky. I decided that maybe we should take up Wunderbar, our local German drinking hole, on their offer of drink specials and live music. I figured we could go there, have a delectable, frothy, imported beverage, check out the music scene with the bountiful hipsters, and then retire home to my residence at a reasonable hour.
There's only one problem with going to Wunderbar - it's in the G-to-the-hetto. There's nothing around this place except possibly abandoned warehouses, projects, chop-shops - and a library. I scavenged through my meager belongings and couldn't find a suitable self-defense weapon (my nunchucks were buried somewhere in the back of my closet), so I decided to rely on my awesome capoeira skills and also to wear my running shoes. Because, uhh, you know, I can do the best capoeira jengas with those on. I told Erika to prepare to go to downtown Lima, which means no necklaces, no earrings, no weddings rings, no wallets, etc.
Anyway, we made it safe to the beer hall, I went to the bathroom, Erika got hit on (I believe the term "sausage fest" would be an ideal term for the place), we drank some refreshing liquids that comply with the German beer purity law Rheinheitsgebost, and we downed a savory bratwurst with sauerkraut while trying to shield our ears from the horrendous screaming that came from the rock-band singer's amplified voice. Judging by the increasing number of people that joined us
outside the place, I don't think anyone was left inside by the time the band finished playing. Yikes!
On the way back, we heard something that sounded like Brazilian music outside, which is odd considering there is nothing else around the beer garden. We decided to walk around and try to see where the music was coming from and came across a group of younger people who were walking into a building of some sort. So, we followed them up the stairs like nobody's business and low and behold, we were on the roof of a building where a Brazilian party was going down! We just missed the live music, but a DJ was spinning it up, drinks were being served (due to the above traveling restrictions, I carried no cash), and several barbecues were in effect. It was completely random, but completely awesome at the same time. We hung out there for a while and did some dancing and were completely anti-social as usual, so we decided to head home after a while and see if this is something that was going on every week or what. We found no evidence of this party whatsoever on Google.
J. Riley, and on Sunday, I was so sure that the rain would catch up to us, that we stayed inside. And it didn't rain.