I’ve been gazing at this picture for 15 minutes trying
to draw some inspiration. Sitting
on our hostel balcony in the Bolivian countryside, surrounded by clay houses
and dusty streets the contrast with Rio couldn’t be starker. And as the
heat of day wears on, all that comes to mind is why I didn’t spend more time in
that beautiful pool.
Now I remember why: 3 nights and 2 full days in Rio
left no spare minute for idle poolside time. But rushing around the city
cramming in as much as possible felt like the norm in a place bustling with
activity. Everywhere you looked there were people busy doing things; football,
volleyball, jogging, rollerblading (oh dear), cycling, swimming. At night the
bars and restaurants spill out onto the street with people drinking and
dancing. It’s hard to see how the locals find time in their day for work (says
the pot to the kettle).
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| Just a few weeks before we
arrive the Santa Teresa tram derails killing five people. Plastered on
walls throughout the neighbourhood are these yellow posters mourning the loss
of a local icon
|
We arrived at our fabulous house (another strike of
luck, despite a few initial concerns that the smoothy owner’s elaborate story
about the place was a big scam and fears we’d come back the next day to find
all our stuff nicked) to salted meat cooking over hot coals and crates of cold
beer. We’d become well acquainted with the Argentinian obsession for BBQ, but
it was a surprise to find that Brazilians love it just as much. Seemingly the trick to their delicious churasco is to lather the
meat in rock salt. I guess it makes sense that the secret to BBQ, the
cooking option tailor-made for people that can’t cook, should be so simple.
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| Family shot on escaderia de saleron |
Our first morning is spent roaming the hillside
suburbs of Santa Teresa and Lapa. They’re a colourful mix of old
buildings now occupied by a new generation of artists and bohemians, if not
falling down or being converted to fancy hotels. We all love the views across the city and harbour that live
up to everything Rio is meant to be.
An afternoon in Ipanema and Leblon for lunch and last
minute purchases for the wedding, then a spot of beach time for sun and voyeurism.
The girls, still not quite finished with shopping stay on, while the boys catch
a taxi back home to let my brother-in-law (sorry Nick, it’s a convenient
description) into the house, arriving a day later after a visa mishap.
We’re keen to get back before he arrives at the house,
because for all its luxury at bargain rates there had to be a catch – it’s
situated directly above Rio’s most central favela (Portuguese for slum). But as
we approach the hill leading to the house the GPS has a meltdown and sends us
in the wrong direction and into the labyrinthine streets of Santa Theresa. A
$R30 cab is now reading $R60 on the meter and it becomes clear that the driver
is hopelessly lost.
We pass a police car parked across the middle of the road
with the cops outside waving automatic weapons around and mustering people
about. It seems certain that if we ever make it home we’ll find Nick standing
at the gate stripped of all his possessions. The driver is sweating and
panicking as the GPS continuously reroutes him on loops, and compounded by a
lack of any coherent Portuguese from his passengers, the confusion and tension
boils over in an tirade from the back seat. Finally someone spots a landmark and we’re
back on track.
So coming up our street it’s a relief to see that Nick
is not only in the company of his suitcase but also his taxi driver from the
airport. He'd kindly stayed with him on the street (‘I can’t
leave you here. It’s not safe’) and waited 30 minutes until we showed up, only
then refusing any sort of protection money. Our driver, acknowledging his
mistakes, writes off most of the fare.
Post-script: Looking back now on our time in Brazil these good luck stories seemed to keep happening to us. We now realise luck had
nothing to do with it – Brazilians are just kind and welcoming people.
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| Cristo looking great with J Beiber hovering around in his helicopter |
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| Looking back at Copacabana from Sugarloaf |
Day 2 we shake off caiparinha cloudiness from the
night before (an alternate theory develops during the night that this is not,
as is commonly believed, a Brazilian drink but actually has origins in northern NZ…) and charter a van and driver for the 10
of us. It’s another clear day and gives us postcard weather for visiting
Christo and Sugarloaf. Both are tourist hangouts but compulsory
stopovers. From these viewpoints it’s impossible to argue how any city could be
look better from above.
From Rio we head a few hours north to the small town of Itaipava for my cousin's wedding. It had been much anticipated with around 70 people traveling from NZ/Australia for the big day.
Even with all the excitement leading up to it, I doubt anyone's expectations came close to what Nick and Sylvia put together. The ceremony and evening that followed were magical - a truly memorable day. Some photos below to try and recapture it all:
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| Lexi teaching Tiago to tango |
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| The bottomless cocktail bar |
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| View back across the pool at the marquee. The surrounding trees floodlit from below looked spectactular. |
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| Farmhouse the following day for BBQ |
Thanks Nick and Sylvie for an amazing day and giving us a great reason to set out on this big trip.
The recount continues soonish with the next stop at the beach (but probably not for a few days because in real time we're about to head out to the Bolivian salt flats...)
xN&G
