Wonderful Rio de Janeiro

To avoid the boredom of waiting in airports, we had planned to fly from Barriloche to Buenos Aries so as to arrive with just enough time to disembark, go through customs and transfer to our international flight to Rio. At the eleventh hour we discovered that Buenos Aires’ international airport is very far from its domestic airport and we couldn’t simply check our luggage through, to the contrary, it would take least an hour’s drive to get there, in addition to the time it would take to find our luggage and a taxi. To make matters worse, the flight from Barriloche was delayed. On our belated arrival at Buenos Aires, with our adrenalin running high, we climbed into a taxi waving money like they do in the Amazing Race and making sounds we hoped meant “Step on it!” in Spanish. Whether it was our Spanish or our desperate expressions, the message registered and we were treated to a hair-raising taxi drive through Buenos Aries, in a vain attempt to beat time itself. Without a hyper-drive to beams us across Buenos Aires at the speed of light, we were doomed to failure. We arrived at the international airport well out of time and despondently entered the departures hall, wondering, which of the roaring planes overhead was ours and would we be allowed to get onto another flight to Rio? Like the last people to arrive in the Amazing Race, we trudged up to the empty check-in counter to face our doom. However, to our unexpected euphoria, we were advised that Varig was running three hours late! So when it comes to flight delays, clearly two negatives can make a positive, which undermines the old adage – “two wrongs don’t make a right”. Not that this exonerates the respective airlines from their atrocious organisation (we experienced many late, cancelled or delayed flights with Varig and Aerolinas Argentina). SAA can clearly put a feather in its cap in comparison to these airlines. [Note: For those heading to South America, Lan Chile was an exception, and we recommended using them where possible.]

After the many delays, we arrived in Rio at 3 a.m. in the morning where we were greeted by a plethora of airport signs with dire warnings against using unofficial taxis and counselling the use of “official taxis” only, “for your personal safety!” Suitably intimidated (and exhausted), we heeded the advice and paid an absolute fortune (there was no bargaining between counters – all quoted the same exorbitant price). Inevitably, we later found out from locals that it’s all part of a scam to scare you into using the “official taxis” so as to perpetuate their monopoly and “daylight robbery”. [Note: never believe everything they tell you at 3 a.m. in the morning. But then it’s also not advisable to get into a stranger’s car at that hour, either. Also, in contrast, the airport officials in Peru will direct you to very reasonably priced taxies.]

Following one of the suggestions in the Lonely Planet, we headed for a place Tereza selected near Ipanema beach. While the hostel was in a quaint side alley, we were put up in a windowless room situated at the end of a grungy passage just off the kitchen-come-bathroom. “Oh yes!”, the bathroom was literally in the kitchen, a flimsy door separating the loo and shower from the stove and sink - so you didn’t just hear the coffee percolating while making your breakfast! [Note: There was no warning about the ablutions in the Lonely Planet] We agreed to move the next morning and headed to Mellow Yellow Backpackers in Copacabana, which was clean and served a mean breakfast consisting of fruit, cake, a fresh bread role, ham, cheese, coffee and toast with caramel, all included in the price. Best of all was its fantastic bar area where we mingled with many fellow travellers from around the world. All in all, the best backpackers we’ve stayed in, so far, even though fairly pricey.

Our accommodation finally resolved, we could at last take in Rio’s beauty. The city-proper mills around the feet of a number of granite domed mountains that rise up like bald-headed monks gathered around the Cocovado (famous statue of Christ) which is elevated on the highest dome as if preparing for the ascension. The monks’ cloaks comprise of verdant jungle, the lower hems encrusted with advancing buildings. The Cocovado commands a panoramic view of his disciples and the surrounding azure sea that pays homage to the city’s beaches. On his right are the lower-class suburbs and on his left are the more affluent, the two separated by a swath of jungle. More disciples appear to be rising out of the sea to throng around Cocovado, their palm covered heads just emerging from the expanse of sea, the waves anointing them with creamy halos.

However, to experience Rio, one has to descend from these heavenly heights to its famous beaches, Ipanema and Copacabana, which live up to their reputation, encompassing two long, wide arms of sand on either side of a rocky promontory positioned like a swimmer in the process of diving into the sea, head in front and arms just starting to sweep forward, Ipanema and Copacabana being the left and right arms, respectively. The curves of the beaches are emphasised by a promenade of waving black and white cobblestones, which in turn, is circumscribed by a wide boulevard with delineated jogging and cycling lanes. These rippled curves, together with the beach front bars, are an irresistible lure for tourists. Despite the magnetism of the beachfront there is, so much more to Rio than looking for the “Girl from Ipanema”. Not only does it have many magnificent beaches, but the one thing we didn’t know about was the Tijuca National Park. Tijuca is the biggest urban rainforest in the world, its sprawling tapestry of greenery comprising the above-mentioned monks’ cloaks which trail out over an extensive area of undulating landscape. This thriving sea of verdure was originally conserved by the King of Portugal (who, under threat from Napoleon, had exiled himself to Rio) in order to stop the muddy runoff from encroaching coffee plantations polluting the city. This initiative has been so successful that it would be more appropriate to say that Rio is situated in a jungle, as opposed to, saying it has an urban forest. Unfortunately, we only had time to see a tiny part of the forest, but were suitably impressed.

We climbed through the forest to the top of one of granite domes, passing under the enveloping canopy of green. At the outset we were bewildered to encounter a deep blue Cyclops’ eye winking at us out of the dark green backdrop of the jungle. After a few bashful flutters, the floating eye resolved into an iridescent violet butterfly. It was more than violet, a lightening emblazoned storm cloud of midnight blue, magenta and sapphire captured on a canvas of velvet, as if all the eyes of a peacock’s tail had been condensed into a single swirling dark hole of indigo. But instead of the arrogance of a peacock’s tail, it was all mystery and wonder. Perhaps that’s why we were only given glimpses of it, to avoid being driven mad by its all consuming wonder. Instead its magnificent wings opened and closed, the turning pages of an arcane tome decorated in shimmering midnight blue ink, revealing glimpses of nature’s arcane secrets - just enough at a time to leave us befuddled - any more would have been too much for our mortal minds. Using its blazing wings as both sails and oars it rode the dreamy currents of air in a light whimsical manner, from leaf to flower, tasting with its feet.

Ricky: “For a moment I was borne aloft with the dream trader. It was the embodiment of how I wanted to travel: on Alice in Wonderland wings, drifting on fancy’s currents and tasting the ground with my feet as I went. Transfixed, I tried to decipher my dream trader’s Morse-Code until its radiance was swallowed by the jungle, and I was left staring at the dark shadowy back of my Cyclops. If only travel could be so light. Instead it is weighed down with visas, plane tickets, bus routes, timetables, money and sore feet.

We continued into the veritable garden of paradise and its organic labyrinth of entwined trees, Tarzan ropes, lichen tufts and garlands of orchids. While Tereza didn’t find Eve’s serpent in this paradise, she nearly stepped on a huge brown velvet-haired Tarantula that dropped in front of her from the branches above. It had a terrible beauty about it, tempting one to reach out and touch it. But, unlike Adam and Eve, we avoided the temptation and ascended to paradise. We could help Milton with his “Paradise Lost”, as we were simply, “at a loss in paradise” - the view from the crown of the granite monk’s head we had climbed was incredible, a panorama of gleaming stone domes, verdant jungle, sultry beaches and sparkling sapphire seas. We were delighted by a giant rock-face with a simian appearance that looked directly at us, aptly called, Monkey Mountain. Far below us, the city looked like barnacles encrusted at the feet of the mountains. We could make out a few palatial houses ensconced under the hems of the forest, as if cowering under the monks’ robes for protection from the investing favelas (shanty towns). Closer at hand, a monastic retreat commanded a reverential view of the Cocovado from a trough between two granite heads, but inevitably the eye was drawn out to the cobalt blue sea, which, to our surprise and delight, was decorated with islands. In the face of this splendour, we had to admit that Rio might even be more beautiful than Cape Town!

Apparently, Rio’s celestial aspirations are matched by its propensity for evil, with its gangs and corruption, counterbalancing its religious fever. Every guidebook and tourist forewarned of the dangers of Rio and, what’s more, a friend was robbed at gun point on a crowded bus in Rio. Undaunted, we followed Dante’s journey through Hades into this supposed Hell, hoping, against the odds, that we would return unscathed. We broke all the codes and caught the local buses and found they were not filled with gangsters waiting in ambush. Or perhaps it was the archangel dispensing the tickets that exercised these demons. Nevertheless, like superstitious peasants making occult signs of protection and avoiding fairy circles, we kept our camera out of site, a hand on our wallet and walked, as if, we knew where we were going (even though we didn’t have a clue, most of the time). Luckily, nothing happened - either we were guarded by angels or in Diablo’s favour. Perhaps the imps were resting, the exhausting bacchanal carnival season having only passed a few months ago. Either way, our stay was blissfully free of evil.

We thoroughly enjoyed our stay, Tereza revelling in being able to speak to the friendly locals. The only dark cloud that dampened our spirits (if you will excuse the double pun) was that most of the time it was overcast or raining, which put pay to our fantasies of sunning ourselves on the silky beaches of Copacabana, and much to Ricky’s dismay the much famed sexy babes in Toucan-beak-coloured string bikinis, were noted by their absence. Ricky: I can now say with conviction that the much vaunted sexy babes of Rio are imported for the carnival season (I was to later catch up with them in Barcelona in Spain).

As the beaches were out, we did the compulsory trip to Pao de Acucar (Sugar Loaf), which if pronounced incorrectly, could mean sugar penis!! Instead of taking the cable car all the way, we walked up the first part, which was rather challenging because of the recent rains. Again we were struck by the beauty of the forest, filled with sage old trees and monkeys with delightfully painted faces looking down at us from the secluded bowers above. And, even though the ground was very muddy and slippery, we enjoyed the fresh organic scent of the steaming bark and humus and the coffee bean, cinnamon and burnt umber browns set in the contrapuntal green frieze of jungle.

We also wondered along the beachfronts and streets doing imaginary shopping. We loved the plethora of fruit stalls and bars, serving a melange of refreshing juices, shakes and fruit salads. There were fruits that we have never heard of before. At last a healthy diet after the pastries of Argentina and Peru (not that Brazil didn’t have any). In fact, most people were pretty healthy, exercising, running or jogging. Tereza: I really enjoyed the attitude – even the larger women showed off their assets. While wondering the streets you couldn’t miss the countries soccer fever – it is definitely big here, with festive parties before and after soccer games and groups of people huddle around TV’s on sidewalk cafes during the matches. The build up for the World Cup Soccer was evident every where, with some streets already decorated with blue and yellow ribbons in anticipation. One of the taxi drivers said that when Brazil plays, literally no-one goes to work and we didn’t doubt him. Soccer is more important than work, more important than the poverty and crime; it is the mercury that brings the people of Brazil together. We were therefore very disappointed that we weren’t going to be in Rio during the games, and would instead be in soccer ignorant America - sacrilegious in the eyes of the Brazilians!

Other highlights:

• Going to see the Christ Statue at the Cocovado - his face so peaceful and serene. Interestingly, the face and hands were made in France and transported to Rio.

• lunch in a typical restaurant in Santa Theresa – a region where many artists and hippies live and one of the most dangerous during the night. Around Santa Theresa are nine favelas (shanty towns) so a lot of crime happens – we were with Eduardo our guide and all seemed fine.

• Bright coloured walls of World Cup players painted on a wall.

• Walking through the Botanical forest hunting Toucans and hummingbirds.

• Going to Rio Scenarium – an antique shop which at night turns to a restaurant and people dance the Samba – to Tereza’s embarrassment we didn’t master it at all, but tried anyway.

All in all one of our favourite cities. Brazil is a definite. The only cautions, is that as a result of its popularity, it is more expensive than the rest of South America, which Tereza lamented because they had beautiful clothes and shoes. Our best line was “No we are not Americans, we are South Africans” when negotiating with the sellers on the beach selling sarongs, jewellery, tattoos, you name it! As to the evil, it emerged just as we were leaving Sao Paulo – the gangs revolted and had burnt 75 busses and killed 23 policemen. Nevertheless, we’ll be back.