3. The rest of Rio

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We slept for 12 hours. After ingesting some ham and cheese, Laura and I explored Flamengo beach alone. We sunbathed, drank more coconut milk, and contemplated how lucky we were to be in such a beautiful country. We were content to sit and enjoy each other’s company in the pleasant heat; watching dozens of young, fit Brazilians jog around the beach, and some old fat Brazilians try to look cool as they exercised in spasms.
After a while, though, the curse of the traveller started nibbling at our toes - the need to go and see thing whilst we still had time. Somehow it was possible to feel time slipping away with 70 days left. I suppose that was our fault for imagining we could see the whole continent in that time. Lesson learned: don’t be too ambitious, and don’t fly back from your starting point. It’s an expensive, and stressful, way to travel.
In the afternoon Robby took us to a city on the other side of the bay: Niterói; where we took a tour of the Contemporary Art Museum, designed by one Oscar Niemeyer Soares Filho. Filho is quite a name in Brazil. Not only did he pioneer the possibilities of using reinforced concrete in building construction, but he also designed huge parts of the city of Brasília. However, he eventually got kicked out of Brazil for being a filthy lefty.

The building itself was amazing, and gave panoramic views of Robby's city, and the bay of Guanabara through its curved glass walls. Unfortunately, you can’t polish a shit, and the art inside was modern to say the least. Hundreds of bricks bore the slogan ¨Repieter¨ whilst terracotta eggs hung in wire structures. It all stank of GCSE ‘art’ projects: it starts off as something of a curiosity until you realise that there really doesn’t seem to be any depth beyond the obvious. Ultimately, the exhibition was vaguely interesting, but it was easy to see why some critics argue that the architectural sculpture of the museum itself upstages the art inside.


Afterwards Robby took us to sit by the sea to drink beer and Caipirinhas. Laura only had one, but nevertheless afterwards walking proved a struggle. Robby says that the best seafood in Brazil is served in Niterói, but it was too early to eat, so we took the ferry back to Rio; a lovely and inexpensive way to see the islands and bay.

Looking over the water it was possible to see flavelas rising up the hills. The vast inequality started to sink in, and I asked Robby about something he had said the day before; that ¨in Brazil there is not the link between rich country and rich people¨. Brazil sits comfortably in the top 10 countries by GDP, but per capita languishes in the 60s.

¨Why is that?¨ I asked.

¨Two reasons - politics corruption and debt to America. If America said no more Brazil debt, people here maybe live better. No flavela maybe.¨

This seems to be a colonial trait that occurs the world over. Take control of a country, cripple it, and lend it money it can never pay back to fix it. Then watch as the leaders of the country take it for a ride. This pattern occurs globally, but nothing seems to change. Why do people stand for it? There should be fighting in the streets over that kind of injustice. Why does the monopoly of force reside within the state alone? Sure, the state has the armed forces, but what soldier would fight the nation? Robby didn’t understand what I was talking about. Anyway, if he had perhaps I would have been thrown out of the country like Oscar Filho.

Conversation moved on, and Robby admitted his failed marriage. He´s 38 and has a beautiful daughter whom he never sees save for a photograph on his fridge. Sad, but perhaps not as sad as the fact that his aspiration is to be the 'number one Rio hostel for Bristolians'. We taught him how to say ¨gert lush¨, and ¨how bist you?¨. His grin was wide. Apparently the first two people who stayed with him were also from Bristol.


From the centre we took the subway, and Robby introduced us to a wonderful street snack - a kind of cinnamon covered pancake sausage filled with chocolate or butterscotch* called a churro, bought from popcorn sellers. Not your average, continental churro, oh no. The Brazilian version has to be experienced to be understood.

*We are addicted.

Also available on the streets are corn on the cob, hotdogs, coconuts of course, sweets, toys, clothes and gambling. Not least, to be found everywhere are dogs: "200,00 dogs just in Rio". Not just ordinary dogs, either. No, Rio has to take it to another level and decorate every man woman and child with a tiny, ugly animal that instantly attracted Laura’s adoration. I started to worry that perhaps this was a reflection of our relationship...

Over the next few days we did the compulsory sightseeing. First up was the Loaf of Sugar that had been in view for most of our previous few days of excitement. How impressive it was, too. We took a bus to the foot, a cable car to the top of the first hump, Morro de Urca (after avoiding persistent guides), another to our target, Pão de Açucar, and took in a deep breath. From 1,300 feet, before us lay the whole of Rio. The beaches of Ipanema, and Copacabana, the flavela of Babylonia, the sumptuous Tijuca Forest, Christ the Redeemer still far above us, the Bay of Guanabara, and in the distance, Niterói. We could see everything we had done in Rio so far and retrace our footsteps. Around us danced little monkeys, happily posing for photos with hungry eyes. It wouldn’t have been much of a shock if they had held out their hands and muttered “ey yankee, you pay for picture”.

Despite our return tickets on the cable-car, we decided to walk the tropical track down the mountain, searching for wildlife along the way. Animals we saw none, but lizards, luscious plants and trees there were plenty. We left bananas in strategic places to feed the nervous monkeys we knew must live nearby, and made our way gently down. The foot of the mountain led us onto a small but perfectly formed beach, where we waded and celebrated life.

We bought churros and then decided to walk back to Robby's house. It took a couple of hours, but was a nice way to see the beaches of the city (though not all are as lovely as Copacabana - one was covered in millions of cockroaches, and smelt of sewerage). We also saw many huddles of stray cats amongst the rocks, scrutinising the large white birds perched on the shore.

Later that evening two Austrian girls arrived to stay with Robby and went straight out to party, immediately smitten by his Brazilian charm. The next day we all made the trip to Christ the Redeemer together, atop Corcovado Mountain. Again, amazing views awaited us, though slightly pale in comparison to Sugar Loaf due to the setting and crowds. No monkeys in sight, but lizards and large insects seemed to blend in with every rock. Robby and the girls quickly developed a more than friendly relationship.

Like Tom Cruise, in person Jesus is a surprisingly small guy. The white statue stands 120 feet tall, which may not be as small as the guy from Top Gun, but considering its visibility from all of Rio was surprising up close. I guess it is what you do with it that counts. The tourist value of this white version of the jet-black prophet was obvious, and Laura and I ruined several dozen people's photos trying to get our own, and vice versa. Stopping at the bar for Caipirinhas, as it was on Sugar Loaf, was tempting, but the Catholic price for our desires quietened the possibility.


That evening and the next day were spent on Copacabana beach, in temperatures high for us (34C), but low for those who, like Robby, see the city and swim in the seas the year round. We admired sand sculptures of scantily clad chicks, perused local crafts and swam in the tepid sea. I battled large waves, gaining bruises and embarrassment in the process, and swam till exhaustion reared its elongated head and sent us home.

But what trip to Rio de Janeiro would be complete without experiencing the nightlife? Robby is not short on practice showing tourists a good time in the busy night-time streets of Rio, and took us to the famous Lapa district. After riding the tube, we arrived in a large square composed of huge buildings, almost all of which seemed to either sell fast food, beer, or be a nightclub. All the clubs were packed full of locals and tourists, charging a mint for entry. We ended up dancing in the front garden of a gay club playing such classics as George Michael’s “Outside”, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cindy Lauper, and the classic “Ride on Time” by Black Box. Fun was had, and after a couple of hours Robby moved us on.

We walked down a few dark and dirty streets, becoming more and more crowded until it was necessary to literally push our way through. Music came from every open door, all of which seemed to be a club or bar of some sort. Samba would bust from the glassless windows of one building, whilst across the street Britney Spears jostled with trance beats for aural dominance. Dotted at very regular intervals were carts selling beers, caipirinhas, and vodka mixes in rubber tubes. Some were semi-professional looking stalls, others seemed as if it was a last minute decision of a local to buy some cans, get out the picnic cool-box, and sell beer to revellers.

As thick as the crowd was the marijuana smoke. Luscious smells of exotic strains coated the air above and around us. We wondered to the infamous Escaderia Selaron, a mosaic covered giant staircase in the artists’ district. Stoned teens crowded the steps; sitting, lounging, giggling; open-mouthed and bleary-eyed, desperately trying to moisten cracking lips. We sat and watched soaked in the sights, smells, sounds and aura of this domesticated wonder. “No police?” I ask. Robby replies “Police do not care. Here is for party and police stay away”. By the density of the partiers it would have been too big a task to govern anyway, and we saw no violence that night.

We moved on and into a dance club. It was tiny and swelteringly hot. The music was loud and the dancing close. We kept going late into the night, stopping only to admire the worst, most hastily put together bathroom ever seen. Eventually we went home, negotiating a taxi driver who, like us, didn’t really know where we were going, and clambered into bed around 4.30am

The following day we went to see an edited down version of the ballet. This is a programme funded by the government, similar to the £5 opera ticket thing they had in England a while back, which allows the poor to see the fancies of the wealthy one day a week. It was quite entertaining, for ballet. Then we returned to the beach, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

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