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My Destination is Galapagos Islands(see more entries for this location)
Getting robbed in Rio
As the night started to wind down, Tulio, the in-house barman offered me a private tour of the city's back street watering holes. Brilliant, I thought, what better way to see the real Rio, so off went the two of us to bounce from one bar to another.
Too many Caipirinhas later, the friendly weasel had vanished and I was alone in an unknown bodega. How did this happen? And more importantly where the hell was I? I decided to avoid reality by ordering another beer.
When my liver could no longer take the beating, I built up the courage to set off to find my hostel, although remembering its name was proving difficult. Damn those last couple of beers I slurred out loud.
Stumbling from the bar, I opted for the left or was it the right, either way confusion reigned and I found myself staggering down a dark, dingy alleyway.
Without warning I was pinned up against a graffiti tagged wall, noticing only the smell of sweet sickly perfume and the long red chipped fingernails on her meat hooks restraining me. I quickly realized I had two large breasts pressing against my shoulder blades. With that, a shard of dirty glass was slammed up against my jugular, digging into my flesh and tearing at my skin.
My initial thoughts were: wow Brazilian women are strong. Before I knew it she'd spun me round and was screaming inches from my face,
"Give me camera. Give me money, Honey."
I still couldn't get over her Herculean power. Her hands were bigger than mine. Her dark stubble was visible through a thick layer of caked make-up. Her shoulders were as wide as a bus. And then it hit me like a kick in the kahunas, this was no woman, but one of Rio's strongest drag queens. I sobered up in an instant.
I could feel my heart pounding like an African tribal warrior playing the bongos in double time. Droplets of sweat formed around my brow, as I feared this would not end well.
I struggled manfully, but this only open up an even bigger gash. Finally, sense prevailed and I decided my life was worth more than a passport and a wad of cash. The battle of the sexes was quickly lost. I reluctantly relinquished the lot, but most importantly my pride. And to a 6 foot DD breasted transvestite of all people.
So I got mugged, but at the end of the day it was I who was the mug.
The moral of the story is don't be naïve enough to venture down Rio's backstreets with all your vital possessions stuffed in your back pocket.
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Wimborne Minster, United Kingdom.
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