2. Robby's House

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Landing in Brazil at 11pm, preceded by a 16 hour delay in Madrid, was marred by tiredness and confusion to say the least. We begrudgingly paid the airport-sponsored taxi company far too much to take us to our hostel. Then when we eventually found it we bumbled upstairs to be greeted by our nervous and completely confused host. Cockroaches ran past our feet as we fell into bed.

Stepping out into Rio de Janeiro the next day was like an escape. Not from the boiling hot room above us or the scuttling and biting insects, but from all constraint. We had nothing that we really had to do, and no-one to tell us otherwise. The sky stretched out above us over a beautiful, different world. Down below it, we danced a little jig to celebrate the beautiful, different us.


The morning sun showed us a dreamy interpretation of 'concrete jungle'. Tall, parched buildings poked out of tall, moist vegetation. The air was humid and tasted polluted, and we turned around to see steep inclines dotted with shanty towns. In pictures this lack of equality is nauseating, but in the flesh we as yet had little time for such pleasantries. We walked to the local beach, Flamengo, to be tourists.


The walk there was hot, and lined with healthy palm trees (somewhat different from the struggling British front-garden variety). Our backdrop was the famous statue of Jesus standing far and above us like an omniscient dictator, and the beautiful mounds of Sugar Loaf thrusting from the sea to our right. We sauntered through a park of deep greens to the beach, bought coconuts and slurped their milk. We stared around at the foreign environment with stupid childish grins on our faces.


Robby sat down next to us and we got talking about his life in Rio. In Brazil there is no welfare system, so when he lost his job with the national oil company he had to think of something to bring in the Reals. Jobs are scarce, and rich people more so. He opened his apartment as a budget hostel 18 months ago, and has had a steady stream of guests since, though we were alone for the time-being. He moves from room to room depending on how many guests stay. There was a tiny little compartment hidden behind the fridge, which was a real effort to get into. It was maybe big enough for two average sized men to sleep in a more than friendly way. Right now, Robby lived in there. During the February carnival, he said, so many people came to stay that first he had to sleep in his hammock, suspended in the living room, and then later on the floor. Sleeping with the cockroaches, what a life. Apparently people paid to do just that, though, during the famous Mardi Gras.


Later he showed us the city centre: the theatre, national oil company and parliament buildings; all handsome, old, ostentacious structures. We saw also a pyramidal Catholic church; huge, mostly drab concrete, but with massive, beautiful stained glass windows. We sat inside and contemplated religion for a while, before deciding there was more fun to be had not in a church. Nearby we boarded a century-old rickety tram which took us to the ¨artist's place¨ - Santa Tereasa.


Why artists would like it quickly became obvious: beautiful old colonial residential buildings with views of the mini-mountains of Rio, with more of the lush vegetation of the tropics decadently daubed all around. Robby managed to convince my sidekick Laura to try a drink made from sugar, lemons and ¨sugarcane vodka¨ - a Caipirinha. It had one hell of a kick - something like sucking rubbing alcohol from a lemon on ketamine.


Our day eventually took us to the most famous beach in the world, the white hot sands of Copacabana. Nearby we enjoyed a buffet lunch (at 4pm) of all kinds of cosmopolitan foods; at a restaurant where waiters attend every minute or two asking if we would like them to cut us some meat from their skewer? Or perhaps garlic bread? How about some chicken hearts, tourist? With his mouth full: "Can you buy me lunch?" asks Robby, casually. It seemed rude to say no.


We walked it off on beautiful sands by tropical waters, lined with the iconic black and white pavements of Rio. The beach was lined with plush multi-storey residential properties and markets, backed by the peaks of lush green mountains. Muscle men did their greased-up thing on the beach and the girls played volleyball; whilst we sat by the sea and learned more about Robby, and a little helpful Portuguese. We were shocked to hear that we had arrived mid-winter. "A little cold for me," said Robby as I invited him to swim in the sea. We got sunburned.


The tube and a crowded bus took us home, ready for bed at 7.30pm. And that was it, the end of our first full day. Two youngsters waded naively into foreign lands with expectations of paradise and tranquility on a budget. Luckily, so far, we had it.

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