When I arrived at the train station at the bottom of the mountain it was already swarming with tour groups and cruise passengers. I heard nightmares about arriving and the next available train being 4 hours later. When I bought my ticket was told the next available train was an hour away, I was delighted. An hour I can handle. So I sat in a park nearby on a swing set, when a kid of about 10 came over to talk to me. I pretended not to understand and told him I didn't speak Portuguese, but I could clearly understand that he was asking me for money to get up Corcovado.
This was also my first interaction with tourists since I arrived. Khakis, t-shirts, sneakers or socks with sandals, cameras around the neck, and fanny packs. English, American, German, you can spot them all. I also spied a fellow female solo traveler. I guess we're easy to spot, too, because most people travel in pairs. The train ride was uneventful, and about halfway up it stopped and a little samba band got on and performed. I recognized one of the songs. In another song, the locals on the train sang along. Although this was planned, I have noticed some spontaneous music breaking out around the city, and people are quick to participate.
At the top of the mountain, at the base of the statue, people were posing in the typical arms-out fashion, which also blocked the stairs to get from one viewing area to the next. My impatience broke out when I decided to ramble through people's photos. Okay, call it photo-bombing. The view from Corcovado was spectacular, and although slightly hazy, all points of Rio could be seen. For as high up as it was, it wasn't any cooler, maybe because it's closer to the sun?? I stayed maybe 20 minutes up there, then went down a level to grab a snack, Coke, and water for the walk back. I found a little cafe on a side street and popped in for a light lunch, then came back to the B&B to relax.
As I stepped inside, a brief rain fell. I've just sat here for the day in the hammock, exploring options for tomorrow, letting yesterday's sunburn fade, and think about dinner. It's overcast now and the temp is fantastic. Although after two days, I've learned my lesson and have to put on bug spray if I'm going to sit outside. If I could charge Mosquitos for what they're feasting on me, I could afford a return trip. Now I'm hearing thunder, so I'm considering heading down the hill for a comfortable dinner and a drink, and call it an early night. I'm not certain what tomorrow will bring. It's supposed to storm. Richard (other owner) suggested I explore Centro, which is the business and historic district. He gave me a map and marked off some interesting sights. I may also opt to visit the botanical garden where I hear there are toucans and parrots and sloths. And here comes the rain. Good thing I brought an umbrella if I venture out.
...
A few hours have passed, and now two storms. The first was epic. Wind, rain, amazing lightening. After a bit it passed and as soon as it trickled to a drizzle, I headed out for dinner. My biggest barrier here is language. I asked for a menu in English or Spanish, and they brought me an English one with no prices. After a cross-check, I ordered chicken, Cuban style. I figured hey, I like chicken, I like Cuban food. And a caipirinha. Oh, that was so good. So much lime, sugar, and alcohol goodness. The air was fresh from the rain, a cool breeze was blowing, and the drink was cold as I sat at the sidewalk table. When my dinner arrived, it was a chicken pounded flag like a cutlet, breaded, and fried. It was huge. A separate platter was heaped with peas, onion, shredded ham, crispy onion, a hard-boiled egg breaded and fried, a plantain breaded and fried (!), and a heart of palm... You guessed it... Breaded and fried. It was good. I may not have ordered it knowing it was all fried, but it wasn't heavy. And this was my first seated meal in days. I devoured it. Nearly to the end of my chicken, I discovered a round breaded and fried disc on the far end of the platter. I bit into it. Pineapple! This made my night. Chicken, ham, and pineapple. On any normal day, I hate pineapple. But stick it in salsa, or grill it, or in this case, fry it, and I love it. I just can't eat it raw.
Belly full and brain slightly buzzed from the caipirinha, I wanted a second one but didn't dare since I had to keep my wits about me to walk back up the hill. The night started to heat up again, but as I made it back home, the retired couple from England just returned with their guide from an excursion in the jungle. Later they'll fly to Iguaçu Falls, then into the Amazon for 2 weeks. Where do they get the means to do this?
Rio Observations
On the way down the hill, instead of taking the switchback road, there's a stairwell that cuts through the houses that cling to the hill. At the top of the stairs, across the street, is a wide patch of sidewalk with vegetation hanging over it. There are a few plastic chairs, a shelf hammered to the cement retaining wall, and a small tv on a crate. This is the neighborhood "living room." Many a time I've witnessed entire families out there, and women calling from their windows over to the men across the street on the sidewalk. They sit and watch soccer, smoke, and watch the goings-on in the hood. The stairwell winds like an outdoor hallway through the neighborhood. I walk past a door, and 2 feet inside is someone on a sofa watching TV, or cooking dinner, or hanging out. I literally feel like I'm walking through their home. Like walking through many homes. Stairs and halls intersect with other halls. This is also how the favelas are built, but these aren't quite as poor as the favelas. But some certainly do appear makeshift.
A very visible note about Brazilian life is the recycling effort. First I heard some statistic about Brazil being the #1 producer of ethanol and user of clean fuel. Next I watched the documentary Waste Land about a garbage dump on the outskirts of Rio, and how the people that scavenge it for recyclables keep tons of garbage out of the landfill every day. Without the garbage pickers, Rio would be overwhelmed. I highly recommend it. Anyway, there are notices about recycling everywhere. Separate bins for plastic, metal, paper, and regular trash. I feel nearly paranoid about throwing a can in the wrong bin. It feels like so much a part of the culture. Recycling? Clean fuel? Ethanol? Water conservation? Where the hell is the US in this system? Why isn't our culture more attuned to this? Why doesn't our public government push these efforts with PR? No wonder Brazil is one of the four big developing economies. They are clearly thinking way ahead of us for a sustainable and adaptable future.
I like Rio. It's hot. There's a beach. Could I live here? I don't know. I might have the largest bug zapper that would brighten the skyline. But it's a nice city. Old. Modern. Cosmopolitan. Fast. I like.
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