When My Baby Smiled at Me...
Trip Start
Oct 13, 2007
1
14
Trip End
Jan 10, 2008
Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Finally we rejoined our own truck and began the 15 hour drive across Southern Brazil, finishing as we started, in darkness, setting camp behind a large servo on the side of a highway.
We had another early rise and a brief stop for lunch on the way through São Paulo, a city we weren't visiting despite being one of the largest in the world and one of the most culturally diverse! (The São Paulo region produces more orange juice than any entire country on earth!)
Nevertheless, our priority was clear and at 7pm on the 30th of December, we pulled up alongside the entrance to a packed campground on the beach in Paraty (pronounce 'parachee'), five hours south of Rio on the beautiful Atlantic coast of Southern Brazil, straddling the tropic of Capricorn.
As the cooks for the evening set about producing the second last meal of the trip, the remainder of the group fled to the beach and the incredibly warm waters flowing up to the shore towards the beach bars filled with relaxed Brazilians sipping from coconuts.
A shuttle bus had been booked for the next day to take us to Copacabana Beach.
And so, we escaped the stifling humidity, boarding the luxurious air-conditioned mini-bus, relaxing temporarily in a state of ecstatic bliss, soothing our travel-battered souls in preparation for a 24 hour odyssey in Rio.
Arriving at Copacabana Beach around 5pm, we found a spot to take over and settled in for the long night with a few cold beers under some umbrellas as the sun disappeared beyond the high rise hotels lining the beachfront and the huge spotlights turned on, gradually taking over like the dinner break at a day/night cricket match.
Dressed in white (as is the custom on New Year's Eve on Copacabana Beach), the crowds gradually moved in as we edged closer to one of the main stages and dancing areas.
By midnight, over two million people were packed onto the 4.5km long stretch of sand in a wild celebration as booming fireworks exploded into the air from an offshore barge.
The party continued for several hours but ended rather abruptly about 4am when informed locals headed off to their own parties and clubs, leaving us typically clueless visitors on the beach, napping briefly as the sun rose up again over the sea, a concerned local advising us to move into the shade of a conveniently placed huge screen as we chilled out on the beach once more until our return shuttle at 1pm.
Needless to say, basically being awake for 30 hours, after a nap on the return journey, an early night and nice sleep-in was appreciated by all.
Our last day of the tour was a very laid back boat cruise around the islands off the coast of Paraty, a chance to lie back, drink cold beer, swim, lie back, drink cold beer....
And finally it was back to Rio, arriving in the early afternoon, making our way to Mellow Yellow, our hostel in Copacabana.
We all agreed to meet that evening atop Sugarloaf Mountain (Pão de Açúcar), the distinctive famous peak rising above the city, with 360° views: along the Southern Beaches, up north, and across to Corcovado, the other major peak, the site of another of the seven modern wonders of the world, the Statue of Christ the Redeemer.
Thus, we spent our first proper night in Rio watching the sun go down on this imposing cityscape.
BIg Jebus!
The twilight quickly turned into darkness as the spectacle of the entire city alight came to the fore:Jebus*, a lone bright light atop a mountain peering down upon the city sprawling along the coastline.
A delicious dinner at the Copa Grill concluded yet another long and exciting day as we neared the end of this South American exploration.
The first morning, we set off on a tour of Rocinha, the largest favela (a slum or shanty town, often rising up a large hill or mountain) in Latin America with a population of 250,000 and one of about 300 in Rio, but also one of the most developed, with a basic structure of local government, businesses and community associations and reasonable accessibility and basic water and electricity supply for many. Nevertheless, criminal factions involved in the violent drug trade still rule, and pitched battles between gangs and with police can make it a very dangerous place. Sanitation also remains at a basic level in many parts of the favela.
We began the tour at the foot of the mountain riding up to the top on the back of motorcycle 'taxis', speedily driving along one of several 'main' winding roads providing access through the maze of alleyways. From the top, we began our tour on foot, passing through a wide gathering area, where it seemed mainly drug dealers gathered, one of whom offered me some marijuana (probably because of my Bob Marley T-shirt and not my unkempt appearance). From here we entered the narrow dirty alleyways, lined with basic shops and basic housing, not unlike the medinas of Moroccan Cities, with couriers lugging heavy loads always requiring the space to pass.
Rocinha Favela
We stopped briefly at the house of a local artist, with spectacular views of the favela spreading down the mountain, and here I purchased a painting to add to the collection I was already hauling around.From here, we wound our way down past a bakery, open sewers, various collections of rubbish, an internet cafe filled with little kids playing online games (!), one family with a small wading pool for their toddlers, and a group of talented boys displaying their drumming skills on upturned paint cans.
It was a strange confluence of poverty and symbols of affluence, the influence of the gangs hidden to us (I saw more mobile phones than machine guns), but looming over the whole place, perhaps most apparent in the 'Linha da Morte' (Line of Death), a narrow alley that is the site of many shootouts (and deaths) with police.
In general, the north of the city is poorer and the south more wealthy, although Rocinha (very close to Ipanema) and many other favelas (including the infamous 'Cidade de Deus' (City of God), http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0317248/, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_of_God_(film)) are located in the south and west.
Walking around Copacabana, I delighted in the numerous corner juice bars selling a huge range of fresh smoothies and delicious pastries (the salgado, a hot fresh soft pastry of ham and cheese is a Brazilian specialty and a personal favourite for any time of the day). The Beach was lined with expensive tourist restaurants beside equally expensive high rise hotels, and although the strip was filled with a range of beach-going locals by day, it became a little seedier and more deserted by night.
Later that afternoon, we headed off to visit Jebus atop Corcovado.
The View from Sugarloaf
Thirty metres high, this statue towers above the city and yet does not look very imposing from down below on the beaches many kilometres away. However, up close it is massive and we predictably took plenty of cheesy Jesus poses from Wellesian camera angles. and enjoyed the amazing views feeling like an omniscient for a few moments.The next morning, a few of the guys jumped onto the metro and headed out of the wealthier south through the central region and out to Maracana Stadium in the north, the famous futbol stadium that was constructed for the 1950 World Cup. It hosts matches between the three big local clubs, Flamengo, Botafogo, and Fluminense and will play host to the 2014 World Cup Final. Though not as big as the MCG, it seats almost as many people since the recent redevelopment, and hosted 199,500 people at that 1950 World Cup Final! Unfortunately, we had the misfortune (or possibly poor planning) to be in both BA and RIo in the very short off-season (only 6 weeks) and were only able to tour the stadium with no matches being played.
The afternoon was spent strolling Ipanema Beach, the wealthier (and equally famous) alternative to Copacabana, just around the bend from the end of Copacabana Beach and stretching a further 2 or 3 kilometres towards Leblon and the 'Dois Irmãos' (Two Brothers) mountains pointing up to the sky like Madonna's bra circa the 1980's. Numerous bars and beach volleyball courts line the length of the beautiful sand, separated by lifeguard 'Postos'. The beach has separate sections with the gay friendly area between Post 8 and 9 and the young, hot, trendy crowd to the right of Posto Nove (Post 9) among others. But the whole suburb is the epitome of the upper class Brazilian lifestyle with plenty of trendy bars, cafes, restaurants, and clubs and most importantly, no shortage of beautiful people.
The other end of the extreme disparity with the millions living in favelas.
On Sunday, the finality of this incredible South American Odyssey (minus the cyclops, but including the sirens and a lot of wind) started to become more obvious as people started to leave to return home or continue on with their world adventures.
We headed off to the Uruguaian markets in the late morning only to find them deserted (possibly the rain that had finally arrived put a dampener on things, probably we were too early), so we set off on a rather interesting stroll through the ghost town business district of damp, empty government buildings and banks, past lines of homeless people stretched out on the pavement under the narrow overhanging rooftops protecting them from the seasonal tropical downpour.
Returning via Botafogo, and an expensive but delicious and highly anticipated Japanese buffet lunch at Kotobuki, seven floors up, overlooking the beach and Sugarloaf Mountain, a welcome return to quality asian cuisine.
A quick return to Ipanema markets in the early evening to purchase a drum (as is tradition on my overseas jaunts) and I headed back to our hospitable hostel in Copacabana.
Unfortunately, I had come down with a cold for the last few days of the trip which meant I wasn't able to make it to any Samba clubs in the famous Lapa district or favela funk parties in Rocinha.
A further excuse to return at a later date...
But fortunately there was a demonstration of funk dancing in the hostel, followed by the Capoeira, a blend of martial arts and dance created by the African slaves in Brazil in the 16th century (Brazil obtained 37% of all the African slaves, more than 3 million people).
Accompanied by a specific style of drum beat, a group of dancers from Rocinha, both men, and young girls and boys, energetically demonstrated the kicks and twists of this fascinating and tiring dance, before forcing most of us to embarrass ourselves dancing with them.
The best accompaniment to this is the similarly named and easily confused caipirinha, the national drink (made of sugar, crushed lime and ice with the spirit cachaça (pronounced cachasa) derived from sugar cane). Also not to be confused with the previously mentioned capybara, the largest rodent in the world.
Alas, Monday came all too quickly and on this final day, I scoured the shops, purchasing some last minute souvenirs and spent a good few hours attempting to fit my drum into already filling bags. Eventually, after discarding some excess unwanted baggage (and stocking up on some more Brazilian Havaianas), my bags were packed with just an annoyingly large plastic bag filled with my various artistic purchases to lug around by hand.
And so, just after 11pm, I was in a taxi speeding down the deserted highways of this huge city to the International Airport in the north, the lone lights atop Sugarloaf gliding by, disappearing from view, the last glimpse of the holiday I was leaving behind. (The airport is named after Antonio Carlos Jobim, who was the father of Bossa Nova and wrote the classic 'Girl from Ipanema')
A quick check-in meant a long wait for my 3am flight but before long I was reluctantly paying US$56 to exit Santiago airport for the day, and by 8am I was strolling once more along Paseo Huerfanos, sitting and eating breakfast next to businessmen who were no doubt bemused by this gangly man in a T-shirt and shorts with a big backpack and oversized bag of artwork reading the newspaper as if he could actually understand spanish.
After a few hours on the internet and a thorough investigation into which cinemas had english language movies playing, I walked a few kilometres back out past our hostel from two months earlier to visit a cineart centre I had regretted missing previously. I returned to the city centre sweating profusely, my choice of films unfortunately restricted to two crap Hollywood films and the one bloody film I had already seen in Buenos Aires. After an interesting session of 'The Heartbreak Kid' at Hoyts (!), I returned to the airport for the last stages of the (very) long trip home.
*http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jebus
