When we went to Rio, Dad remembered our room number 1821 because that was the year the Texas constitution was signed. He told me to “remember the Alamo,” but then corrected himself because that wasn’t until 1836 so don’t go to room 1836. Later on, completely out of the blue, he said he was wrong and that the Texas constitution wasn’t signed until 1824, and I never would have found our room. You know, because obviously I would have thought to myself “well indeed the Texas constitution was signed in 1824 BUT THIS ISN’T OUR ROOM?? NOW WHAT??” (the only reason I know the dates for this story is because I Facebooked it at the time)

Historically I’ve had a bad habit of being a little jaded (interestingly, I’m getting LESS jaded as I get older; as it turns out, finding things interesting is more of an attitude) but even I thought Christ the Redeemer was pretty amazing. I may or may not have even said “wow” out loud. It was also really fun to watch other people taking their photos, striking the pose. I wanted to take a high-five picture instead and as you can see it didn’t work at all, but Dad still lay down on the ground to try and get it for me.

He was very proud of his Marriott platinum status which got us access to the concierge lounge. We drank many complimentary caipirinhas. He had also recently learned about “over medium” eggs and asked the chef to prepare his eggs that way. I was like, Dad, this guy barely speaks English and WE didn’t even know “over medium” existed until like a month ago, how you gonna ask him for that?! Probably the eggs were over easy but he didn’t fuss about it.

This trip was in November so he got Duff beer from the commissary so we could celebrate Thanksgiving in the American way.

Bonus story not related to Dad but it makes me laugh: He did have to work on this trip and when he was gone I just hung around the hotel (I was told NOT to leave the cabana area–I think he was worried I would get Fast and Furioused). I was sitting at the hotel bar reading (and drinking a caipirinha) and there was a group of American dudes there, I think they were some sort of sportsball team. The bartender’s name was Roberto, which I know because the group was getting a little rowdy and started going on about “MY MAN, ROBERTOOOO.” Roberto had this look on his face like, yeah these guys are annoying, but I’m about to make sooo much money in tips. I Facebooked about this at the time, too! Here’s a quote: “What’s your name? Roberto? In English that’s Robert. Robert, that’s my shit! We’re tippin’ American to let them know what’s up! “