Recommended by my taxi driver Cezar, The Britannia was where expatriates and Paraguayans intersect over bottles of beer resting in galvanized pails of ice. Sold. They even bottle their own beer. The staff were super friendly, though only one woman spoke English, the rest were all smiles as they patiently listened to me order in muddled Spanish.

Planted atop a Union Jack covered barstool I aggressively nursed my first half liter of Britannia, insulated in its own custom koozie, and waited for a conversation to start. It did not take long. I met Alfons, the German owner of Britannia, and from there I met several other folks around the bar.

Nearing midnight I left the Brittania's memorabilia covered wood clad walls with Silvia, Britannia's english speaking bartender, a British guy named John and his Colombian sidekick, Mark.

At the second unnamed bar more ice buckets of beer we're had. John and Mark left the bar a bit past 4 or 4:30 am to catch a few hours sleep before spending the next day motorcycling rural Paraguay. I was invited but there was a concern of finding an appropriate helmet.

The rest of us left the bar soon after, the end of our evening cut short when a pickpocket relieved Silvia's friend Maria's wallet from inside her purse, a curse reminder of Paraguay's wild ways. May be we should have stayed at the Britannia? I found my bed a bit after 5:30 am. Good times.