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Actually...Before we get to Rio: HUGE apologies to my readers (of which I´m discovering, there are more than I thought...thanks, guys!) - I have *not* stopped blogging, it´s just that we are now transient, spending three or so days in a city, trying to pack stuff in, occasionally leaping into internet cafés or shared hotel/hostel computers, and we simply don´t have the luxury of a good couple of hours catching up. Also, I have been spending an inordinate amount of my limited time online, e-networking and sorting out my CV and firing it off to various recruitment agencies.
They are still letting people go at the Telegraph I heard today - and at News International (Times, Sun, News of the World) they are cutting their sales force by a third - or 100 staff. There´s been about 50 gone at the Tele. Seems I got out just before the proverbial sh*t hit the fan...had I waited for redundancy pay-off I would *not* have been one of the ones let go anyway (I´m, rather annoyingly, too good for companies to let go of at these times) - no, I´d be one of those they´d keep on, to do the work of 2 colleagues. A lucky escape, methinks.
Today I have spent 4 rainy hours in a Rosario internet café trying to catch up from Rio...5 cities ago. So deep breath, and you might want to read the next few posts in a few sittings!
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Sunday: Arrived in Rio. We´re staying just off the Copa-(Co!)-Copacabaaaaanaaaaaa beach resort...we decided on a bit of luxury after all our hard work, so we´ve got a proper hotel, with a pool and gym and everything. Get us!
A couple of things I noticed on the way to Rio (Her name is Rio and she dances on the saaaand - there, now I´ve got all the tunes in my head on paper, I can carry on as normal):
1) In the bus station ladies toilets, I was surprised to find 8 urinals to about 6 cubicles. Confusion. Had I walked into the men´s by accident?! Oh no, phew, there was an old dear washing her hands...I was OK. Then it clicked. Rio has a huge transexual/transvestite culture, and these were obviously laid on so they don´t have to share the men´s toilets. How very 21st Century!
2) We noticed Brazilian kids are adorably cute, but couldn´t work out what had happened to the parents (to put it politely). In fact, the only lookers we saw were most definitely gay, and unfortunately they won´t be passing on their genes any time soon.
Anyhoo, Rio. Got there Sunday mid-afternoon, dumped our bags at our hotel, and went for a recce of the beach 2 mins away.
We christened our arrival with a couple of surprisingly violent Capirinhas from a little bar on the beachfront - accompanied by delicious fresh grilled prawns on wooden skewers, then toasted peanuts in a paper cone, from the hawkers that come up to you every 2 minutes - and sat in the setting sun sat contentedly people watching.
Copacabana beach is as you´d imagine: perfect golden clean sands, blue oceans, hawkers that hassle you every 2 minutes with a smile, showing off their various wares.
Almost - to C´s disappointment (and my eternal relief) the beaches of Rio are *not* choc-a-bloc with lithe lovelies who look like Gisele, wearing nothing but dental floss. That is a fiction you see on the telly - hurrah!
In fact we saw a lady, in her seventies (I´m guessing) and quite out of shape (large, droopy, if you know what I mean), wearing *only* tight short purple leggings and a very thin strapless boob-tube bikini top. Grim, yes, but that lady obviously has more body-confidence than anyone I know, so on second thoughts, good luck to her!
There is a lot more to see for the girls though. We watched a group of guys playing an energetic game of beach volleyball crossed with football (futebol, as they say here) in front of us. No hands, just head, chest and feet are used. Thinking about my earlier observations though, they´re probably gay too!
Headed back as it got colder, checked Facebook, Leanne and Fin hated Sao Paulo (oh dear, that´s where we´re heading...) and they were in Rio already! I messaged them to say where we were going that night, but figured we might miss them that evening.
C & I hit a Lebanese restaurant that night called Amir. Huge tasty portions and very cheap, a good find. We took a cab as all we read is that Rio is very dangerous and you shouldn´t walk about at night, especially looking lost and flashing your camera about.
There was a raucous street party going on in the park across from the restaurant which we summoned up the courage to venture into, but C didn´t feel comfortable (so how am I meant to!?!), and as I pointed out, he was glow-in-the-dark-white and his fear showed on his face. So we decided blending with the locals was probably not going to happen and made a swift exit.
Went for a drink outside a nearby bar, which we quickly realised was teaming with working girls. C & I ended up having a heated debate about the morality of it all. Don´t get me wrong: I feel these girls are often driven to it out of poverty and desperation: to support their families, pimps or drug habits, or they are tricked or forced into it. They are putting their lives and health at risk on a daily basis - they need society´s help and support to get out, learn a trade, get a job. But my stomach turns at the guys who think that´s an OK way to treat any woman. Let´s just say C´s views on the subject were shockingly flippant which I hadn´t expected from him at all, so our heated debate soon somehow turned into a full-blown row.
We went back to our hotel early, me in a foul mood and not speaking to him.
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Monday: My mood was somewhat lifted by the arrival of Leanne & Fin that morning - yay! I´d Facebooked them to arrange a day hanging with Jesus.
That´s the big Christ the Redeemer statue which looks over the city, 2000m above sea level and about 84m high and apparently one of the new 7 man-made wonders of the world, fact fans.
Not much else to say about it really - we were fleeced for 36 Real each (about a tenner) for a 20 min train ride to the top (admittedly some great views, but after Argentina prices, the fare seemed as steep as the mountain itself), and saw a big stone Jesus. Views of Rio from up there were amazing through - a full 360 view of the city, although it was a little misty, so the pics weren´t great - you´ll just have to take my word for it.
Here´s some hilarious pics of monks giving it the thumbs-up in front of a huge Jesus though. That´s something you don´t see every day.
C, Leanne & Fin, hanging with Jesus. As you do.
And we spotted a woman in the café being served a slice of the biggest watermelon EVER...look!!!
Brazil is way more expensive than the other S.American countries - we´ve gone through 2 days money already (oops!). It´s twice as pricey as Argentina for most things, and only slightly less than London for others: especially the fish - sometimes 3 times as much as the steak - which doesn´t make sense when you´re sat there eating and looking out at the Atlantic Ocean.
Later that evening, we ate at The Girl from Ipanema restaurant, and were amused by our waiter Evandro, who when thanked for the menu, said ¨That´s what friends are for¨, when taking our drinks orders asked ¨To beer, or not to beer? That is the question¨ and as we left, he hugged us, implored us to stay, and said ¨I love you with all my heart¨. I think he´d learnt all his English from song lyrics and films!
I didn´t realise the original sheet music for Ipanema was in the bar till after C mentioned loads of people were having their pic taken behind us (Gaaaaah! Why didn´t he mention it at the time?!?!), but turns out that this is where the famous song was actually written.
Anyway, I´m still a bit sketchy about getting the camera out at all due to all the horror stories in Lonely Planet etc. Apparently Rio is rife with crime.
Tried to find some bars after the meal, but strangely, the beachfront, so lively in the day, was dead as...er, night, at night. Where does everyone go?! We wandered round Copacabana lamely for a while, got accosted by a persistent beggar, so hopped in a cab and pegged it home. In bed by midnight!!!
Tip: don´t stay in Copacabana - it´s as dated as the song, with a smattering of beachfront restaurants that probably had their day in the 50s and 60s, the last time they were decorated.
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Tuesday - Beach day. C was moaning about it from the off as he is white as white can be and burns easily, so he sat in the shade, whilst us three girls lapped up a few rays on Copacabana beach. It´s nice to feel warm after the rain of Posadas!
A funny thing happened when I turned round and C was having his trainers polished (huh?!?!) by a hawker. They were talking football so I left him to it. We girls had to laugh though when C then came over all flustered and asked one of us to give hin a 10 Real note (about 2.50 quid) as the guy was demanding 50 Real (and that´s all C had on him). 50 Real!!! Schoolboy error to not ask the price first, but C said he didn´t get much of a choice. We gave him a 10 and C waved the hawker off, but not before he offered to clean our *flip-flops* for the bargain price of 30 Real a pair...ummm, I´ll just rinse mine under water, thanks!
Evening: met the girls after dinner for drinks, who brought along Amy from Bristol travelling with Alex from Hull (they´d been teaching English in Mexico) and another guy Cedric from Sweden (I think). They were room buddies of Lea and Fin, and a jolly time was had by all, especially after we quit Copacabana and headed to the much livelier Ipanema.
Ipanema´s a lot cooler, but apparently the even swankier places are in further north, Lapa, which, feeling scruffy, we didn´t really feel dressy enough for...!
Regaling our various tales of teaching to our new friends, I have to admit I felt a pang of nostalgia. I´m finding it very weird to just be a tourist. Days of nothing, no purpose, time to fill, money to spend. Also not speaking Portuguese is so disorientating after months of getting by in Spanish. Back to asking for the English menu, it´s sooooo embarrassing!
Portuguese is meant to be similar to Spanish, but a bit French-influenced (the French invaded first, the Spanish booted them out). However they pronounce things very differently and nasally and I really struggle with what they are saying.
You can get by with Spanish some of the time, but most locals don´t understand - or pretend not to. I read that some Brazilians get offended if you launch into Spanish, (I think it´s a case of national pride as they are the only S.American country that speaks Portuguese) but there are 13 countries in S.America and Brazil is bordered by an incredible 11 of them (fact fans) so the influx of Spanish speakers into into this holiday resort must be huge!
Besides, this is how the converstaion would go
Me: "Voce fala Español?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Inglés?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Francesa?"
Them: "No"
Me: (in Spanish, as I know no Portuguese other than the above phrase and "Obrigada" which means "thank you") "Um...dos biletes por favor..."
Them: "Si..."(and then they respond in perfect Spanish...)
Quite.
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Wed - C not feeling very well (again, I know! He has the constitution of a small, fragile gerbil. I´ve started to call him ¨Sicknote¨). I´d arranged to go to the beach with the girls, but without the convenience of our mobile phones for now (our Argentina chips don´t work in Brazil, I feel so helpless!) I had to go to their hostel to meet them and tell and tell them that I couldn´t meet them (!) as I should spend the day with Sicknote.
They were staying in a strange little hostel; next door to a kindergarten, and opposite a morgue and hospital. Lea says she saw bodies being carried in and out, from her room window. I mean they were carried out of the morgue, not her room window, obviously. Surely that would give the kids nightmares though?!
Anyway, I had a chilled day, used the gym (finally!) and didn´t do much while C slept away. Our leisurely pace meant we managed to royally screw up meeting the girls in Devassa´s restaurant on time, by the time we got there it was 9.15 and we missed them. Went to search the bar they said they´d be in (Shenanigans...classy, eh?!) but I think we went the wrong way down a very long street. Passed lots of bars, one looked gorgeous, really swanky, but I was too embarrassed to ask the doormen outside where Shenanigans was. That´d be like asking the doorman at the Ivy where the Walkabout was.
I shuddered at the thought, and, starving, we decided to cut our losses and head straight back to Devassa´s (which had come recommended) where I had the strangest pasta with mushroom dish. The mushroom sauce was actually mushroom gravy made with what tasted like meat stock - it was the same sauce that was on C´s over-done steak. However, I didn´t have the language or inclination by now to question the origins of my dish so I woofed it down and ordered a dessert to take away the taste of meat fat. Again, I´ve decided it doesn´t count as I didn´t order it and couldn´t help it.
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Thursday: C feeling better so we headed to the Maracana football stadium: the biggest in the world. We were going to do the tour, but as we approached there were about 200+ people queueing up in the blistering sun, under a motorway arch that stank of pee to purchase tickets. But for what?!
Everyone looked like locals, so we were convinced that they were in fact buying tickets for Sunday´s match, not a tour. In fact, there were no signs for the tour.
C´s Portuguese is even worse than mine, and having established that no-one spoke Spanish or English, he tried to ask a man in uniform if this was the queue for tickets to the tour (pointing at the Portuguese in our bi-lingual Rio pamphlet) or for ´el partido´ (match). The man nodded agreement for both parts of the question.
We didn´t really fancy what could be an hour or more wait for the wrong tickets, so somewhat dejected, we left the stadium...but I got a pic of C outside it at least...
What an anticlimax! We must be the world´s worst tourists.
Anyway, we went onto the Museo Naçional as it was quite close by. Amazed we found it, again, nothing sign-posted, not even on the stone edifice as we walked through the door, nor as we paid - don´t they realise they might get more visitors if they simply put a sign up?!
Found some funny little pottery men (I love the one on the right) and the pre-cursor to the tanga (aka dental-floss) pants Rio is so famous for. Did you know they were originally made of wood? Ouch - how did they sit down?! Maybe that´s why they kept strolling down the beach...
Later that night - our last in Rio, we went to meet the girls at their new hostel (The Girl in Ipanema hostel - I think a lot of businesses round here trade on that song!), and Alex and Amy who´d also decided to move as their original hostel had managed to cram 3 more bunks to make 18 people in their room, mainly drunken blokes - apparently the smell, snoring and farting had become unbearable. *Shudder*.
Had a fantastic meal in an Oriental fusion restaurant despite the somewhat obtuse waiter who could not or would not answer simple questions such as ¨Is that price for a full bottle or a glass of wine?¨ (Believe me, we tried in English, Spanish and by pointing to the menu...). As Lea & I had the sushi platter, we felt totally justified in having desserts too, but they looked so great, everyone else ordered one after ours had arrived. We considered a club nearby but as it would cost a total of 180 Real to get on for all 6 of us, we figured we´d rather drink that money in a bar down the road which was free to get in and was playing great music (naturally, it turned out to be a gay bar!).
C created quite a stir and attracted a few new male admirers (it´s the shaved head, goatee and skinny hips that do it!) and Alex tried the 700ml of draft wine he´d spotted on the menu, which tasted every bit as disgusting as it sounds. We girls played it safe with the normal bottled stuff! After a great evening, we were finally chucked out, the last to leave, as the staff were pointedly putting chairs up around us.
Alex and his draft wine. Yum.
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Friday - C & I went on a Favela Tour. Now if you´ve seen the movie City of God, those Favelas are dangerous crime-ridden shanty towns - and it´s true no tourist should ever wander alone. But we went with a highly recommended company, www.favelatours.com.br. Although I´ve been surprised to hear since that no one else we´ve met had even dared take the tour!!!
The Favelas of Rio constitute about 20% of Rios 6.2 million inhabitants, but the Goverment only recognises 300,000 of them and one main road running through the largest Favela, Rocinha. The other roads, and therefore homes, people, facilities for these people simply don´t exist.
Although I was really amused and incredibly surprised to find posters everywhere advertising a Ja Rule gig, in Rocinha itself, in July. Bloody hell, he knows his fan base, doesn´t he?! Gangster-land. I´d like to see the security bill on that one.
Actually, our tour guide Martha told us, 90% of Favela-dwellers are honest citizens, and the criminal percentage are about 2% - probably the same as London then - but it´s the drugs lords who run the community.
The Favelas started only this century when the Gov´t started to develop the lower lands nearer the beaches for tourists and the rich. The poorer folk´s homes were razed to the ground, and they were forced to move further and further up the hills to survive. There they have created their own homes in these unforgiving territories, made out of whatever they can salvage - a higgledy-piggledy stack upon stack of wood, corrugated metal, brick and stone constructions, one on top of the other.
Brazilians don´t beg - they are proud people and even though deprived of state support, they will make, sell, trade or buy anything to make a living. We bought a few souvenirs from a market stall of craftspeople and traders, happy to put some money into an economy that gets nothing from the official routes.
The favelas have of course, over time, built their own sub-culture and economy, based on drugs money: marijuana and cocaine.
It´s the drugs lords have the power and the money, and as Martha told us more, it seemed almost Godfather-like. The shoot-outs that occur on a daily basis(erm, now they tell us!?) are solely turf wars between rival dealing factions - but they fiercely look after their own villagers.
We got told of an incident where a mother needed to pay for treatment for her sick child and the drugs lords paid for this. Equally though, a woman who cannot pay her way through an addiction may have to pay with her head shaved, and a man may have a finger chopped off.
Favela streets are actually safer than those of any normal city though - other types of crime - muggings, rapes, burglaries etc are next to non-existent - as long as the drugs lords keep their gun-fighting amongst their own people and keep other crime under control, the police ignore the dealing under their noses.
It´s a self-governing, self-policing, self-supporting community. I marvel at man´s ability to survive whatever life throws at them.
Martha has been doing the favela tours for 7 years, she has the respect of the community, and so we were allowed to take photos - but only from and to very specific points, not *here* or *here* as they were dealing points. Taking photos *there* would risk ALL your group´s cameras being confiscated by the dealers, and as Martha explained, she was not going to negotiate our memory chips back with angry men who have big guns. C & I caught two dodgy-looking youngish guys who were definitely dealers (all in black, *lots* of bum bags, chewing gum on a street corner, doing nothing, but watching everything). They were eyeing our group up, so I pushed my camera further into my pocket, whilst strangely thrilled to be so close to something I´d only read about and seen in movies.
Weird though, to think the Gov´t have nothing to do with these people, and to them they don´t exist. A few companies, phone, gas, electricity, etc, have realised the fiscal potential of 1.2 million people, but as most homes don´t have a recognised address (there is only one street recognised by the Government), people can´t get a job or a bank account or sign up to the services. Ever innivative, they simply connect their own cables to the supplier´s posts and ¨steal¨ the electricity and phone signals...what Martha called "spiderman´s work"...um, safe, or what?!?!
The second Favela had no dealers so we were allowed to take as many pics as we wanted. This seemed more like a pretty village, coloured bunting everywhere, old men playing cards in the street, although the gentle waft of marijuana as we walked through the narrow backstreets reminded you this was no ordinary village.
We were thrilled to hear some of the profits of which actually go to run a school we visited there. All jolly and painted in bright colours, Favela tours were funding a safe place for the kids to flourish in an area the Government doesn´t deem education is important (they´d pulled promised budget a few years previously).
Favela kids only have a 3% chance of making it into higher education - parents want their kids out working asap, and anyway, the richer kids get all the places and opportunites so why bother? With the help of this school though, and an education programme that extends to persuading the parents to think differently about their children´s chances, they´ve managed to get 37 kids through this tiny school so far into higher education - and only failed 3 of them. Amazing, huh?!
At the end of our tour, we tipped Martha and thanked her for a fascinating insight into the other side of Rio, before leaving in the mid-afternoon for Sao Paulo...(7 hours on a bus...)
