Oh Rio Rio dance across the Rio Grande...

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On Sunday 10th Feb we left Sao Paolo for Rio De Janeiro, a 6 hour journey during which we were subjected to 2 of the worst films ever made, I think one of which was called Raising Helen, avoid it like the plague.

Eventually, and thankfully, we approached something resembling a large city which turned out to be Rio, the landscape was very different from Sao Paolo, houses littered everywhere among green hills and many more small houses bundled together, with less evidence of the concrete which dominated the biggest city. The weather was atrocious and the following morning there was a photo of lightning striking the Christ the Redeemer Statue in the local paper, fortunately it stood firm. We arrived in the hostel late in the evening, the hostel itself (Ipanema Wave) is located on a street cordoned off by large bars, which was both reassuring and unnerving, however it has been a really safe location, flooded with gringos.

Fortunately the sun shone for our first day and we decided to sample Rio´s notorious beaches. Firstly there was Ipanema Beach. Though less famous, most people we have met have said this is a local favourite, it stretches for over a kilometre and has a stunning backdrop of mountainous greenery and Islands on the horizon. The beach itself is divided into sections, our guidebook said section 9 is where the ´body beautifuls´hang out, and figuring we would immediately have something in common with those sunning themselves there we decided to set up shop. We were struck immediately by how ridiculously large the male torsos are all around the general area of any of the beaches. All along the beaches there are exercise bars, sit up benches etc... catering for such determined people. Sam did challenge me however I declined in order to keep in tact our integrity. Another aspect of the beach is the incessant determination of the men selling things up and down the beach. They walk along in the baking heat all day selling the expected; drinks, and the unexpected; ranging from cheese, biscuits, jewellery, clothes, and bikini´s, for those who turn up to the beach without bikinis. One such seller used a megaphone to scare the living daylights out of everyone, he used the Darth Vader voice on me which added to such fear. The waves however were the redeeming factor as they were monsters and seeing Sam attempt to tackle them was comical. We also took a quick walk along the Copacabana, purely because it would be an insult upon Barry Manilow´s efforts if we were to not do so.

After a few beers with some people from the hostel on the night, we decided to make the next day, the 12th, an active one. First on the list was tackling the the Sugar Loaf Mountain, or Pao de Açucar, so named apparently because it resembles the shape of concentrated refined loaf sugar. In order to get to the top, mere mortals must take two cable cars, which incidentally have been in operation under some guise since 1912. Resident James Bond geek Sam informed me that Bond and Jaws once had a bit of a brawl on the exact same cars, this time it was his turn to refuse my challenge. We eventually reached the top and took in some of the views of Rio, including the overlooking Christ the Redeemer, the Copacabana, and some of the many favela´s dotted around Rio. Despite the overwhelming heat it was an enjoyable morning.

We arrived back at the hostel just in time to make the tour which the hostel offers and everyone recommended, which essentially involved jumping into a taxi with a lunatic and having him race around the city stopping at various points. The local knowledge was useful however as Rio isn´t always the easiest nor safest city to navigate on foot. First stop was the ascent up to the Christ the Redeemer statue, the most symbolic icon in Brazil, the country with the largest population of Roman Catholics in the world. Despite dicing with death on the way up, it was difficult not to become slightly awe-struck by the sheer scale of the statue, standing 130 feet tall and weighing 700 tons, even the height at which it is built is incredible, and the base of the statute provides some more stunning views of the city.

On our way back down, the driver, who communicated almost solely in Portuguese, stopped in a ´safe´ favela, so we could take in some views of a ´shooting´ favela. A bit of nervous shifting later and we got back in the car and headed for Lapa, a small neighbourhood in Rio famous for its monuments and nightlife. We took a couple of photos of the cathedral, which was one of the most modern I have seen, and the Carioca Aqueduct, which had an opened door tram cruising along it with some people hanging out displaying once more the Brazillian lack of fear for their life. We also took a quick stop in Lapa at some steps made famous by Snoop Dogg who featured them in his video ´Beautiful´. We learned that they are a bit of a cultural icon and the man behind them is an eccentric artist named Selaron, who has been working on the tiled steps for 14 years, constantly changing the tiles and colours making the steps a constant work in process. Slightly bizzarely there was a tile of Princess Diana´s head amongst the forage.

After a few hectic days in Rio we decided to take some brief respite and head down to Ilha Grande, which has been documented, returning to Rio on the 17th Feb. In the back of our minds on the return journey was the small matter of a football match; namely Flamengo v Vasco Da Gama, hosted at the Maracana, in the semi final of a State Cup. We arrived at our hostel at 3.40pm, with kick off being at 4, and the ´recommended´guided tour having left at 2pm. I was a little more reluctant than Sam who was as ever determined to get to the game by hook or by crook and on the advice of the person working at the hostel we left our cameras and took a taxi. I´m not sure if anyone has seen hooligan films made in Britian, however the ´firm´walking to the ground with a police escort was larger than could ever be imagined, heads down time, we fumbled our way to the ticket office and just bought the first thing we were offered after repeating tourist and safe a few times. We arrived just after kick off and took our place standing in the heart of the Flamengo end, in a crowd again of around 70,000.

The Maracana slightly shades it in respect of size of ground I have ever witnessed, currently holding 95,000 spectators, but managing to fit in 199,500 paying spectators for the 1950 World Cup Final. The place is big. The police presence was also big, and at one point an officer shifted her way past me with what looked suspiciously like a grenade in her hand. Guns have become a norm but grenades are a new one on me, especially walking in and amongst thousands of drunkards, accident waiting to happen.
The game itself was once again full of incident, Flamengo (our adopted team) went 1-0 down early on to a nicely taken Vasco goal, the Vasco end went bonkers with some people not able to control themselves, throwing themselves instinctively towards the pitch, and the baton wielding police. Ultimately such acts were futile as Flamengo equalised just before half time. Jumping up and down for 90 minutes is strenuous enough but having to protect yourself when a goal goes in is something else, and we just about survived on this occassion. Flares were lit and dynamite released in celebration. During half time we queued up for a cheeseburger, given to us cold, which was again something new. Drunk is probably the word to describe the majority of the crowd, many of which were lying on the floor in sheer joy.

The second half started frantically again, and Vasco were awared a dubious penalty. It is worth pointing out at this point that Brazillians fall flamboyantly to the ground under any contact, and if the referee genuinely gives the free kick at every single opportunity. As a result the game was quite stop-start, though with some nice footwork and skill throughout, despite the slower pace. The penalty was taken by Vasco legend Edmundo, and was dreadful, and saved by the Flamengo keeper. Normally a penalty save is greeted by joy and exultation but never have I seen a reaction similar to the Flamengo fans, some of whom were virtually overcome by tears of joy and looking to the sky. Confidence was buoyed and the skilful number 7 treated the Flamengo faithful to a bit of skill which was again celebrated as though a goal had gone in.

With a little time left Flamengo scored the luckiest and worst goal possible and then we were really done for, one man physically lifted me up into his arms hugging and thrusting me, others ran into eachother shouting, and chaous ensued. Luckily there wasn´t too long to hold out and the final whistle went, Flamengo through to the final. Some more bizzare chants (which throughout the game we had to try and join in with) were sung, one of which was to the tune of Zombie Nation, an English dance song. The Flamengo players ran over and treated us to a dance, and some thrusting with strange noised which we all had to imitate. After avoiding a minor skirmish between two drunks after the game we jumped in a taxi and breathed a slight sigh of relief. I mentioned in the Uruguay blog that ´friendly´ and ´neutral´ were two terms not understood by South Americans, added to that can be ´lanes´, and ´traffic lights´, after our taxi journey home.

On the night we were advised to go to a Favela funk party, organised by a company called ´be a local´, which despite the name and connotations we were told was meant to be quite safe. 11pm arrived and nobody around appeared to take up the option, our fears were slightly compounded by the fact we jumped into a white van completely on our own. Fortunately it stopped and picked up some more traveller folk, and after about 40 minutes into the journey we were stopped and given a briefing. We were told there were to be around 3000 locals there, including a fair few shady types and in total about 20 gringos. Our ticket included a VIP wristband and we were guided to this section when we first arrived and told that its only use really is to get drinks and go to the toilet, other than that it is best to join in the rows of locals well and truly shaking it on the dancefloor below. After a few for dutch courage we went in a group down which had a few females in, who were well and truly the victims of attention for the locals, who at every opportunity tried to take a chunk of their hair and show them their affection. This apparently is an act known as gringo hunting. This calmed down after a while and we enjoyed a bit of the funk, dancing with some locals and enjoying the amazing atmosphere, interrupted every now and then by a display of fireworks overhead, breaking innumerable health and safety laws in the UK. Another interesting display was the way in which for certain songs the men had routines which reminded me slightly of young girls in the playground going through steps, but these were all pretty much dancemasters, and it was extremely impressive. After breaking the grip of a crazed topless maniac towards the end of the night we got back into the van and went back, all in all an enjoyable experience and very much a break from the norm.

Continuting with the favela theme, the next day there was also a favela tour being offered which everyone raved about and said was a really worthwhile experience. It was a bit of a moral dilemma to go ahead with it as it sounds a little like treating people as though they are in a human zoo, however the company organising it is held with high regard by the people of the favela, as they put money into community projects for children and have set up a medical centre which we got to visit, the funding they receive and money circulating is so little that tourism is heavily relied on, we therefore decided to take the plunge.

We were told by a roommate that on the day before, the guide told the people to put their cameras away (he does this when one of the drug dealers or drug takers are in the vinicity) and one man took it upon himself to try and take a photo of the dealer who was armed with a ridiculously large machine gun and rifles. The guide confiscated his camera and went absolutely crazy as he had risked all of their lives, when we did ours the little kids were asking the guide what happened to the man and were doing impressions of his english profanities from the day before which was funny.

The tour itself starts with a bit of a bang as you hop onto the back of a ´bike boys´motorcycle and are given a ride to the top of the steep favela which is the local mode of transport. Nothing can prepare you for the risks taken other than maybe a helmet, which the driver had but I wasn´t given. Never have I clung onto two things so desperately, the bike and my bleeding life, as he took corners I´m sure deliberately, ridiculously wide, and was undertaking cement vehicles left right and centre. We got off the bikes at the top and people hung around the streets spotting the gringos shouting ´Guns and Roses´and other popular western cultural artefacts.

Throughout the tour we stopped at various points and were given the low-down on the situation of the Rocinha Favela and other Favelas in general throughout Rio, the State itself has 700 Favelas and the city around 200. The size of this particular one was about 1sq Km (Sam informs me approximately the size of Curdworth) yet had a population of 200,000. Improvements have been made since the 1980s as concrete replaces poorer materials for homes used however the sewage system still leaves much to be desired as the acqueduct doesn´t reach the centre of the favela where conditions are much worse, and the general run down nature and visible poverty was more than apparent.

Our first stop as we went into the favela was that of a local graffiti artist who helps the kids in the local area with art and education, the children themselves are still full of life, asking for photos and posing throughout, drumming and playing around, probably unaware of conditions outside the favela. The local community project was the second stop, and we watched the youngsters perform Capriona, a kind of fight-dancing passed down from the Slaves in Brazil. We were given more facts and an outline of the problem which we were told is essentially fuelled by rich people entering into the favelas and paying for drugs, fuelling the trade in machine guns used for protection and inter-drug gang violence, which inevitably causes the loss of innocent lives. Though no complex problem can easily be explained nor solved the visible aspects of the problem are clear. We finished the tour and in the end we were both glad we went on it and would recommend it.

So that was yesterday, we played a bit of Darts in the local when we got back and tomorrow head for foc de iguazu in Brazil, the Brazillian side of the Iguazu falls, bring on another 24 hour bus journey. Apologies for the excessive length of the blog, and congratulations to those who have made it this far.

AMJPC

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Photos

Rocinha
The rich and poor living in close quarters

Comments

[em]

Sounds really interesting az although maybe not the football bit and they seem to be the bits you go in to most detail with, thanks for that blow by blow account. Have you really got used to seeing guns????????? i hope not xxxxxxxxxxx