Rio Redux and Life in Sao Paulo

« Return to Brazil

Without pictures, without recording the new faces to Finish the Sentence, it feels like last week just didn’t happen. It’s a blur as fast as a strobe light and as hazy as the smog that sits on Sao Paulo, like cigar smoke on a crackpot military general. There were no crazy Gonzo adventures, no extreme sports, no knife fights, chicken tosses or back flips down sand dunes. Just living with some resemblance to normality, which in the context of the last three months, was unusual in itself.

The flight from Salvador to Rio cost about $30 more than the 24-hour bus. If time is money, then I just made a fortune. The red-eye flight took only 2 hours, and would also save a night’s accommodation, so we partied right up until it was time to board the TAM flight. On the plane, sardines were laughing at our leg space, and if you stand up against a wall and push back hard, you’ll get a picture how far our seats reclined. I was returning to Rio to do the tourist must-sees I had missed first time round, such as seeing the Corcovado (the massive Christ statue that overlooks the city) and revisiting Copacabana where “the girls shake what their mama’s gave them, and so do their mamas.” Phillipe and I checked into a hostel in Copacabana called Mellow Yellow, which does its best to be Rio’s Milhouse, which, if you recall, was the traveler’s frat party of Buenos Aires. Bar, pool table, foozball, DVD’s, a notice board with the day’s activities, BBQ’s, and too many of England’s sunburnt slacker youth. Our bunks were three high in a crowded room where the only place to store your backpack was on the floor. One room had over 24 bunks, and smelt like cheddar. The Yellow also had a genuine working hot tub with water so milky you could spread it on toast. Still, the vibe was incessant, with speakers blaring everywhere, even in the bathrooms. We got a neat 60% discount because of the construction noise on our floor, which I couldn’t hear because of the party noise on our floor. So we walked Copacabana, having fun making eye contact with hookers, taking in a stellar churrascaria (where they come around with meat until you stop or pop) for a bargain $7. Phillipe bought a Brazilian bikini for his friend’s girlfriend, and it was so small it cost more per thread than gold. Our second and final day in Rio took us up a steep mountain to the Christ, where the full beauty of Rio was on gorgeous display. In the Miss World City, Rio would easily win the swimsuit division with its firm, pointed mountains, soft sandy beaches and coiffed city jungles. Quite possibly, it would seduce the judges but ask for payment back in the hotel room. This is Rio, after all.

Under the shadow of the giant, hippy-looking art nouveau Jesus, we drank our first acai, the small, red Amazon berries with more protein and vitamins than any other fruit on the planet. Blended with ice and with the weight of pudding, acai is a meal on its own, with the added bonus of having natural “uppers” equal to several cans of Red Bull. Why it isn’t available outside of Brazil is a mystery, considering its obvious benefits for a fast-paced, fat conscious western society. Perhaps acai is the secret behind those damn Brazilian bikinis. Earlier we visited the tranquil Jardin de Botanical, with mammoth trees from the Amazon so Brazilians know what they look like before they cut them all down. I’ve never been one to ogle at plant life, but some of the orchards were so blatantly sexual its no wonder witches used their roots to enhance fertility.

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