Panicy Party People

---

As Brazil rocks to the Samba beat, Rio, its party capital is alive with rythm and heat. Actually it´s quiet muggy and overcast at the moment, but you get the point. The spirtual home of the party, Rio is the place for the young, the attractive, the rich and for the next 5 days us. Well at least that´s the dream. A dream that as you trawl up the Avenida Atlantica with the pristine Copacabana beach streaching out into the suprisingly clean and inviting waters is all too believable. A land of milk, honey and a/c supermarkets (It´s weird the things you miss when exploring the wilds of the rainforrest - oh look jam, I haven´t seen that in months. mmm jam).

But this isn´t the only truth about Rio. More than can be comfortably digested has been talked about with regards the other side of this Eternal Brazilian Party, and this is most certainly a place of lives extremes. A place where the simple journey to the bus station can be one frought with danger. What other cities lead you past drug addicts and potential muggers stalking foreigners at the bus station, just waiting for them to walk down the wrong back alley. A place where everyone feels the need to wave their hands and physically warn the poor naive whiter than whites of the approaching ´Peligroso, Peligroso´ (that´s danger, by the way). Whether its real or imagined, this is also a frightening place to be and for the first time in months we´re watching our backs. We don´t like it.

Maybe it is out naivity, maybe it´s the fact that we have survived most of the world with barely a scratch (well apart from surfboard induced accidents) or perhaps it´s a blind optimism to believe the best in people. Whatever it is, we refuse to consider that most people in Rio want to rob us and we will not stop walking down streets and taking the bus. So far the Brazilians we´ve met have been helpful, sometimes overly so it has to be said and for the most part trustworthy. They are, however, incredibly, almost painfully Loud.

Now I like Celine Dion as much as the next person, somewhere between having teeth pulled and a full colonic. But one does have to question the wisdom of long distance buses in this country. It appears that the more you pay the more the company will do to make your journey as unplesant as possible. This time it was the Canadian worbler. For 8 hours!

Yes, 8 full glorious hours - complete with video accompanyment.

What makes the whole thing even more unbelievable is that not a single person on the bus seemed to actually want the music on. Yet the driver insisted and so we were stuck with nails across the blackboard, for 8 hours, ON REPEAT! The thing that really pees you off, however, is that due to a quirk of the Brazilian buses the driver is actually in his own little booth and so doesn´t even have to listen to what he is subjecting the passengers to - (word deleted in a vain attempt to clean up the Internet and protect parents sensitive nature). When they did thankfully turn her off, however, what did the guy if front of us do, but boot up his laptop and start his own marathon of Chessy 80´s pop throughout the night - what I wouldn´t give for a large stick.

So, if you know a Brazilian and you´re not sure what to get them for Christmas can we politely suggest - Headphones.

---