Brazil. That evokes pictures of beautiful people. Warmth, sun, beaches. Also of poverty and samba and soccer. As I have never been there and know next to nothing about it, I was looking forward to yesterdays bridge tournament. Held for some charitable cause in the Brazilian embassy. Seemingly, the wife of the embassador plays bridge and recently joined the same bridge club I play at. Hence our club president – lets call him Majestix – was invited and asked me along to play with him. Alas, none of the expected glimpse of Brazil. A bunch of Wilmersdorfian widows, as I call them, horrible, old hags gathered at 16 tables. Accompanied by a few even older skeletons of guys. However, hostess and host were nice enough, although they looked nothing like I thought they would. Two not too tall, middle aged people. The lady had beautiful, greenish-brown eyes but else could as well have been a regular European housewife what with being a bit chubby and featuring mousy-brown hair and fair skin. Her husband, a slender, whitehaired man, maybe 60 years old, wore a jacket way out of fashion and was very softspoken. The level of bridge played was mediocre, the food served afterwards, too. So were the sourroundings. Even though the embassy is a modern building offering a nice view of the Spree and parts of Alexanderplatz. But the interior gave a barren feeling to the place. I was expecting fire, somehow. But was met with a degree of cool surprising to me. Anyways, my sweetheart participated as well with a friend and he duly won the thing. So we had a nice drink afterwards with his partner and girlfriend at my favourite New York bar & diner in Charlottenburg.