Bit of beach time, capirinahas and Rio


Advertisement
Brazil's flag
South America » Brazil » Rio de Janeiro » Ilha Grande
June 30th 2007
Published: August 9th 2007
Edit Blog Post

Our night bus arrived into Angra dos Reis before dawn. The fishing village is the main port for transport to Ilha Grande 10km off the coast. As we walked down to the harbour, the sun was struggling to rise over the back of the island and the town was illuminated by an eerie blueness as the moon light reflecting off the morning mist. We had to walk across a large car park populated by hundreds of large black birds. They looked half vulture, half crow and waddled away as we walked between them. The birds then started to squawk excitedly as the silhouetted fishing boats entered the misty harbour. The scene was reminiscent of the start of an old horror film.

The cheaper public ferry didn't leave until 3pm so, despite Gemma's frugal nature, we shelled out the extra 14 Reis and caught the morning schooner. We sailed up to the island at about 10am and walked the 200 yards along the beach to our hostel nestled at the end. The staff at the hostel were very accommodating and served us breakfast. While we were eating, the receptionist laid into the cleaner for not having our room ready. We felt
Trail water poolTrail water poolTrail water pool

doesn't compare with Igausu
a bit guilty as we weren't suppose to check in until 2pm, but Gemma suspected their eagerness was driven by the stinking clothes and shoes Tom had left cluttering up the reception.

Our double room was basic but the view as you opened the door was stunning. The quiet beachfront of Abraao, with fishing boats pulled onto the golden sands, lay in front of us. To our right the sun was glistening off crystal blue waters and to our left were the jagged forest covered hills at the centre of the island.

Winter on Ilha Grande is dry with temperatures ranging between 25 & 30 degrees. There are no cars on the island, no banks and only a few small restaurants and shops in the small, one storey town of Abraao. The dress code is beach casual; swim wear, shades and Havana flip flops. We were a little worried that the small heard of cattle we ate in Argentina would come back to haunt us. Well Gemma was. Tom was more concerned people would pour buckets of water over him and try and roll him back into the sea. Luckily we both fitted into our bikini’s and Greenpeace’s Rainbow Warrior didn’t try to shepherd Tom out to sea when he went in for a dip.

We spent the afternoon of our first day sunbathing at a small secluded beach not far from our hostel. Despite Ilha Grande being quite small, there are over 100 beaches and most of them are deserted in 'winter'. The restaurants on the Island are expensive as they are geared towards the more affluent Brazilian tourist, so we gave them a miss and cooked for ourselves.

For the first couple of days we chilled out on the beach recovering from the excesses of Gemma's birthday. We visited Lopez Mendes Beach on the other side of the island. There were maybe 30 people on a beach stretching for 2-3 miles. It faced the Atlantic so the surf was big (for a Brit anyway). Gemma lost her sunglasses when she went for a dip. Waving at Tom (& not paying attention) she turned to face the Atlantic. A large wave engulfed her, sending her sunglasses flying and dumping Gemma on her backside. Tom ran over to help her...yeah right. Being the protective and caring boyfriend that he is, Tom was too busy laughing. It took a little longer for Gemma to see the funny side.

That evening we bumped into our old GAP group again. This was the start of Tom's love affair with Caipirinha's. We got rather drunk that night and talked rubbish with our old friends until the early hours. We mentioned to their tour guide, Angel, that we were thinking of walking to the summit of the Island's tallest rock, along one of the many trails.

Now to date on our travels we've been told many times that we need a guided tour to do stuff (Boca match, Rugby match etc) and after we've forking out the premium to do it with a tour, we've realised it's a lie and we could have easily done it on our own. Well Angel informed us that we would need to pay for a guided tour as we could easily get lost, sighting the example of a women tourist who had to be rescued.
Being the Neanderful that Tom is (and drunk), he took offence to the suggestion that his sense of direction was anything but perfect and was adamant that Gemma and himself could easily manage to do it on their
Lopez MendesLopez MendesLopez Mendes

one of the beaches on Ilha grande
own. It's worth noting that before Angel's comment there was no way Tom was going to spend a hot day walking up hill through the jungle.

Anyway the next day we set off to conquer the rock. An hour into the trek (all uphill) we came across the start of the trail (we thought we had started it an hour earlier). We tried to follow it for about 10 minutes but had a slight problem. Unlike the other trails on the island, there was very little evidence of a path. In the 100 yards or so that we had already covered, we could have easily taken one of other 'paths' into the thick jungle. Predator or Sol from Lost would have had difficulty tracking this path. It's amazing how quickly male pride disintegrates after an hour and a half walking uphill on a hot day. We were soon back on the beach.

That evening was the start of a 32 hour Caiparinha bender. We met up with our GAP group for a BBQ. A local showed us how to make our own Caiparinha. They consist of a local Brazilian rum called 54 (40% alcohol), some crushed lime, a load of sugar and a little ice. As the recipe suggest they are rather potent and the spoonfuls of sugar help also to keep you awake. The sun was rising when we got to bed. Miracuously two hours later we were up again and off to get on the 'Caiparinha Boat'. 3.5 hours after going to bed we were sailing out of the harbour and back on the Caiparinha's. Which was lucky because we were sobering up and our hang overs were about to kick in.

We sailed for a couple of hours around the Island replenishing our blood alcohol levels before stopping at a lovely little cove. The crew got the snorkels out and we were soon swimming around, heads down, admiring the different types of fish, starfish, squid and other sea life. Tom narrowly escaped head butting a jelly fish. Snorkelling drunk isn't easy. It takes a certain level of co-ordination not to swallow mouthfuls of sea water. Unfortunately neither Tom or Gemma possessed such skills and were soon back on the boat washing the foul taste of sea water away with the sweet sweet taste of more Caiparinha's.

The crew laid on a BBQ for us as we sailed off to our next destination. The beach we stopped at was perfect for football. The boys played 6 a side as the girls kept the Caiparinha's tempo going whilst attempting to play frisbee. Despite scoring three goals, Tom's beach football career in Brazil was as over as quickly as it started. After stubbing his big toe three times, his feet turned a dark purple and two months later he is still moaning that his feet hurt.

We sailed back to Abraao ensuring we drunk as much free Caiparinha as possible before the boat trip ended. When we got back into town we had short kip before heading out for the free musical festival the island was hosting. That evening was a bit of a blur to be honest. We definitely drank more Caiparinha's and had a boogie, but as for who was there and what was said, it's anybody's guess.

The next morning we got a lift with our old gap group from Ilha Grande to Rio. On the boat back to the mainland Gemma was wasted and slept on the deck. Tom however was easily persuaded to get back on the Caiparinha and keep the dream alive.

We booked into a hostel around the corner from their hotel in Copacabana. We had planned to stay only one night as we were going to share an apartment with some of them. But that fell through and we ended up staying for a week. We got a double room which was more like an apartment with separate lounge, kitchen and bedroom. With a good selection of supermarkets close by and a weekly market in the square outside, Tom was happy to get back in the kitchen and rustle up some good old British tucker.

Most of the locals that we met in Rio were very friendly and eager to chat. A couple even gave us their business cards and told us to phone them if we needed any help. However they were slightly deluded in their assertion that they lived in the most beautiful city in the world. We're sure they were correct 100 years ago, before they invented concrete, handguns and crack cocaine, and invited Croydon's town planners in to have a go.

The landscape is truly remarkable, with beautiful long golden beaches separating the jagged forest covered mountains from the Atlantic Ocean. It is very similar to Ilha Grande, just with ugly concrete tower blocks scaring the landscape and poorly developed favelas growing up the mountain side.

The aerial pictures of Rio from the statue of Jesus Christ or from helicopters above the city seem to air brush out the reality of what is on the ground. Like Sao Paulo, you’re warned not to wear jewellery, watches or anything else that may indicate wealth. You’re advised to get taxis when travelling at night and not to take cameras out as they'll get stolen, even in the more affluent beach suburbs. After a while you also get use to the sound of gunfire ricocheting in the mountains above the city.

We chilled out in Copacabana for a week. The only other part of Rio we ventured into during this time was Ipanema, a 15minute walk away. Ipanema is another beach suburb of Rio, just a bit more upmarket. Tom wasn't too impressed with Copacabana, likening it to Benidorm without the full English breakfast and lobster brits. We were starting to wish we’d stayed on Ilha Grande.

On Copacabana and Ipanema to a lesser extent, you get hassle from beach vendors every 5 minutes. The people selling stuff you might actually want, like drinks and snacks, are no problem (because they have customers). It's the people selling tat that are annoying. They use tactics like 'accidentally' kicking sand in your face or standing in the sun to get your attention. If you're a gringo it's worse because they think you've got money to burn and take offence when you don't want to buy a hammock or crap imitation Brazil shirt.

The beaches get busy in the afternoon as people finish work (around 3pm) and at the weekends. There are loads of football & volleyball pitches, bat and ball courts and people sitting around playing cards, drinking Caiparinhas. You could spend all day people watching, especially on the weekend. The highlight for Tom was watching sunbathers getting taken out by stray volley ball serves/smashes and not the bikini clad Brazilian girls, honest.

We needed to detox after our Caiparinhas bender in Ilha Grande and so took it easy most evenings (well some). We passed up on the opportunity to go to a favela rave. The sales pitch "it's safe, the bouncers have automatic machine guns" seemed a bit of a contradiction. A couple of girl friends that went apparently got touched up and dry humped all night by the locals, so Gemma was gutted to have missed out.

We did go to one dnb night but were a little bit disappointed with the locals. By 4am in the morning the dance floor had cleared and there were only 8 people left dancing, all Brits. Considering we'd all been out since 8pm, 4 hours before most locals, we thought it was a poor show from a city that has a 10 day long party every February. We concluded that they either get so smashed at the Carnival that they're lightweights for the rest of the year, or they went on to an after party that we weren't invited to.

We decided to spend our last couple of days in Rio in the Lapa district. The area was described as bohemian, edgy and home to Brazilians from a variety of social economic backgrounds. Over the weekend it is suppose to have the best nightlife. There are a lot of bars and clubs in a small area and hundreds of people mingle on the streets outside of them drinking. There are stools selling beer and Caiparinhas and sound systems pumping out a mixture of salsa, samba and conventional dance music.

Friday night is probably the busiest night and well worth a visit. The area is split in two by the Lapa Arches that carries the tram up to Santa Teresa. On the less busy Thursday night it is quite intimidating walking between the areas as the homeless people that shelter under the arches are far from friendly.

The samba clubs are supposed to be some of the best in the world. Some of our old travelling companions who went raved about them being "very decorative, with beautiful antiques and carvings covering the walls". As neither of us care much for samba and have never chosen a club because Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen did the decor, we gave the samba clubs a miss.

Whilst staying in Lapa we visited the statue of Jesus. When we left our hotel we could clearly see JC perched on the mountain and the same when we returned. However by the time the taxi had got to the top, all we could see was white clouds. Which coincidently was the same colour as Tom after a few too many Caparinha's the night before. Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, a church service started and we had to endure prayers and carols. God must have been punishing us for a life of atheism and blasphemy.

Gemma was very disappointed with the lack of view; Tom was starting to turn from pale white to green. In the taxi down Tom made the driver stop. Gemma's mood improved when she witnessed Tom projectile vomiting through his nose in the supposedly picturesque Santa Teresa district. The locals didn't seem best pleased so we made our escape.

We had a better look around Santa Teresa later on when we took the tram from the city centre, over the Lapa Arches and up into the district. The tram was probably the cheapest thing to do in Rio apart from chilling on the beach. It weaves through the narrow streets of Santa Teresa high above the city. School kids and locals cling onto the sides as tourists take photos of them and the amazing views.

Santa Teresa is very picturesque with brightly coloured old colonial houses perched on the mountain side. However it is ruined slightly by the graffiti. Not the Graffiti art that is found on the walls, that is awesome. It's the tagging over every part of every building. The area is supposed to have gone through regeneration in recent years but it's still got a long way to go.

We passed up on the opportunity to do a favela tour. Whilst we were in Rio the police were cracking down on the drug gangs in preparation for the Pan American games. The gangs have been targeting tourists to increase publicity and embarrass the government. Apparently over 6000 teenagers in Rio carry guns and more kids have been murdered in Rio than Palestine over the last 30 years. We thought it best to give it a miss.

That being said we didn't leave Rio without someone trying to mug us. On the Friday night in Lapa, Tom went to toilet and on the way back felt someone going through his back pocket. When he turned around there was some bum gesturing aggressively to him and saying something in Portuguese. Luckily Tom had been chatting football to a couple of locals for the previous two hours (in broken Portuguese, Spanish and English...but they seemed to understand each other pretty well...or in their drunken state they thought they did) and they saw what was developing. They came over and got in between Tom and the bum and shepherded Tom to safety. In a more sober state it probably would have been quite frightening.

Unfortunately we only had to wait 12 hours for it to happen again. We were in Lapa again and had just watched the filming of a hip hop video in the neighbourhood. As we walked backed to our hostel a beggar thrust his hand in front of us demanding money. This happens a lot in Lapa so we just ignored him. However this bloke didn't give up, getting more and more aggressive, pushing and trying to snatch our bag. As he had neither a gun nor knife we just kept on walking as quickly as possible and telling him to f off.

This lasted for about 5-10mins but seemed longer. The surprising thing was we were walking down a busy road with cafe's and bars in the middle of the day but nobody wanted to come to our aid. In the end he gave up as we wouldn't back down. Our flight left Rio 12 hours later and the incident was very close to our hostel so we decided to just head to airport and get out of Rio.

They say bad things usually happen in threes and this was no different. We took a night flight from Rio to Santiago. As the plane was making its final approach to land at Santiago airport it suddenly pulled up sharply to the right. The plane was shaking violently and we were leaning over more than either of us has ever experienced before. Eventually it settled down and 15 minutes later we landed safely. During this time though the pilot told us that he had to abort the landing because he saw another plane taxiing on the runway.

During the incident Tom was whiter than when we visited JC at Rio and was sweating more than his 4 course meat feast at the Estancia in Argentina. You could say it exacerbated his fear of flying 10 fold. Good job we didn't have to fly again for a while, apart from that 14 hour flight to Auckland the next day.



Advertisement



Tot: 0.1s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 18; qc: 58; dbt: 0.0612s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1; ; mem: 1.2mb