A Cidade Maravilhosa

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Rio is really a tale in three parts: the hostel, the CouchSurf and the rooftop pad in Ipanema. Let´s begin at the beginning…

I got into the city Friday afternoon and made it down to Botafogo, where Jenn and Jon were staying. Also at the hostel were Sam and Sophie, Brits straight off the plane from Africa. My streak of finding myself solely in the company of couples was continuing! Homemade caipirinhas, prepared and drunk, rather bizarrely, on an intersection between two busy roads, was followed by a boisterous metro ride into the city centre, where we met Hannes the Saffa who´d also been CouchSurfing in Bonito. We headed to Lapa, samba hotspot, which was heaving: thousands of people spilling out from the bars into the streets. Anyway, I enjoyed myself a little too much and ended up blind drunk. The others had already left, leaving me to take the excellent decision, only ever made after having had one too many, of walking all the way home. Which happened to be about 4 miles away.

The weekend was thus neatly written off in one fell swoop, Saturday and Sunday spent fruitlessly wandering shopping malls in the hunt for a phone. Sunday evening the five of us headed to Ipanema beach to watch sunset; we got cloudset instead. Game, set and match. It was also time to say adeus to Jon and Jenn as they headed off for Iguazu Falls. Godspeed!

Monday dawned wet and grey, bringing with it uncalled-for memories of the motherland. What to do in Rio when it rains- museums and art galleries? Not on a Monday, when they all shut up shop. No, instead I was reduced to heading to a cinema and sitting through two hours of Hollywood romcom dross; the -com could quite easily have been omitted. I don´t even remember the title. It did manage to make even Knocked Up seem funny: no mean feat.

Monday night things immediately began to improve, despite the continued onslaught of tropical rain. I left Botafogo and caught a bus all the way across the vast 10 million+ city to Vila Isabel, an area where Davi, who had offered to host me for a few days, lived. He was volunteering at a free learning centre when I arrived and, once finished and back at his pad, he gave me the lowdown on how to navigate the metropolis.

Tuesday morning and time to  appear respectable. I had a ´meeting´with a high-flying Rio lawyer in his firm´s offices. Alberto was a friend of my Dad´s and had agreed to give an insight into working in Rio and some tips about city life.

It turned out his offices were at 1 Avenida Rio Branco, a towering Downtown skyscraper. I felt a wee bit out of place; everyone else in the queue to get past security was suited up to the nines. Thank God I´d worn trousers that day, even if they were jeans. And as people filed past, showing their National Identity cards as ID, I had to persuade the personnel on desk that my expired Student Card was all I had. Things were going well. Once up though I felt like a right lucky little chappie; I was ushered into the board room to wait for Alberto, whence the views out over Downtown and across Guanabara Bay to Niteroí were fantastic. I even ordered myself a coffee and water while I waited – never turn a free drink down! – VIP for an hour!

Alberto was a lovely guy, obviously doing my pa a favour by taking time out of his busy business schedule to meet a random backpacker in his boardroom. After leaving I took myself off for a wander around Downtown. Office workers looked on, somewhat bemused, as I snapped photos of their skyscraping workplaces, but hey we don’t get to see so many of them in little old England. A couple of beautiful ornate Baroque churches were to be found in the city centre, as was the Praça XV de Novembro, former urban hub in colonial times. I had a look round the Paço Imperial, former palace of the Emperor and his family, and also the Palacio Tiradentes, former seat of Government: both of them grand old buildings. I had time too, enough to spend a couple of hours in the vast Museu Historico Nacional, which contained everything from colonial-era relics to 19th Century cars and station wagons.

Before heading back Davi gave me a whirlwind tour of his offices in Downtown: given his job as an Oceanographer, something I´d dreamed of doing when younger, let´s say I was a wee bit disappointed. No tanks of sharks, no colleagues gearing up to head out onto the high seas. Just plain old offices, watercooler and all. Davi was a dude though, a real kindhearted guy, who took time once back at his flat to school me in the origins of samba and bossa nova.

Wednesday, and time for more sightseeing. First though, a deep breath before plunging myself into the mad, manic world of Saara street market. It was huge, block after block of stalls and stores, the area an arterial warren of alleyways. The feel and name of the place conjured up images of the Middle East: it turned out the area was originally an Arab and Jewish market. After getting what I needed I got the hell out – more than enough stress for one day – and headed for Cinelândia, where the city’s main theatre, library and art gallery could be found. On the way however I came across a Neo-Gothic colonial building, strikingly Oxonian in its appearance: the  Royal Portuguese Library, which was beautiful both outside and within. Further on I came across the Nova Catedral, a 70m high 60’s monstrosity from the outside but surprisingly spiritual once inside, the vastness of the interior accentuated by the lack of supporting pillars. Classical music liltingly filled the expanse, whilst multihued light filtered through the four immense stained glass windows that spanned from floor to roof.

Onwards though. Bordered by the opulent Neo-classical Theatro Municipal, the Museu de Belas Artes and the stunning Bibliotheca Municipal, the Praça Floriana has to be the grandest square of the city. I headed into the Art Gallery and once back out again got chatting to Narayana, a Matogrossense from the west of Brazil. We headed together to the bairro of Santa Teresa, clinging to a hillside just south of the city centre. Formerly an aristocratic neighbourhood, its crumbling mansions are only reached by a ride in an oldschool wooden tram. It was a beautiful part of town, lush with trees and vegetation, its cobbled streets leading to fantastic views out over the city.

I had to go though; dinner that night was going to be with Davi, his girlfriend Irene and her mum and stepdad, in a restaurant in swanky Leblon, home of the rich and famous. The food was great, the wine even better, but why does paying more always equal less food? It’s an equation that doesn’t quite add up…

Thursday I met up with Narayana again – great name! – and we headed to the southern end of Leblon to try to climb a twin mountain known as Dois Irmãos, or Two Brothers. The going was good, although we were sweltering under the tropical sun, until we emerged from out of the hillside forest to find ourselves at the foot of a sheer rock face. No way up, so back down we went, opting instead for a lazy few hours on Leblon beach. As the daylight faded we headed further north in the city to Urca to try to summit Sugarloaf in time to see the sunset. Once again, mission unaccomplished. Ho hum.

Friday though was a day to be savoured. Today was going to be  Pão de Açúcar day: not cruising to the top in the cable car; instead Hannes and I were going to scale the beast, sheer sides and all, under our own steam. We met up midmorning and wandered round the base of Sugarloaf to the point where the path ended. From here on in it was going to be scrambling across and up bare rock faces until we made it to the top.

Up we went. I thought of my climbing shoes, sat happily in a bag in my room back in Oxford; not for one second had I thought I was going to need them. Well today was different. We struggled up a narrow little path that wound its way through bushes and shrubs before coming out into the open. 100 metres below, down a sheer rock face, lay the sea; above us, more mountain. Time to get the rope out and harnesses on; the next part was going to get a little hairy. One slip, rope aside, would have meant curtains; I would, as my dad is fond of saying, have been dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Literally.

Well no dashing went on. We scrabbled on up, coming to a sheer vertical 15m rock face. Having not climbed for about five years I was a little rusty; and more than a little nervous. Below us eagles soared, riding the thermals, while further down the waters of the Atlantic lapped at the foot of the mountain. Time to do some proper climbing. Hannes first, securing the rope as he went. Now me. Bugger. Nerves wracked, nails bitten, but hey it was either up or down. And down looked a whole lot harder.

I made it. Now just another 20 minute scramble upwards before we came to stairs: stairs meant civilization. We’d made it, a dn hopped over the rail, still wearing harnesses, startling a group of schoolkids. Up we strolled, coming out onto the viewing deck amid a scrum of camera toting tourist. Now this felt good – not only had we done it the proper way, the hard way, we also done it for free! We even became part of the tour, guides pointing out the two sweaty foreigners who’d got to the top without paying, the cheapskates.

And the views? Incredible. We’d picked a magnificent day, cloudless, and the vista in all directions was spectacular – out to sea; across Guanabara Bay to Niteroí; down the coastline, the entire 4km curve of Copacabana beach laid out; and inland across downtown and on to Jesus himself giving the world a hug up on Corcovado. Very very special.

Not that things were bad down at ground level either. After catching a free ride down in the cable car, Hannes reckoned it was time for a swim. In the rooftop pool of the apartment block he was staying at in Ipanema. Score! Coming out of Ipanema metro station we bumped into Windsor, a US Naval liaison officer who then offered to put me up in his own rooftop Ipanema apartment. Things were well and truly coming together. And the rooftop pool was heated, with views out over the city and ocean. Life was undeniably, unequivocably treating me just fine.

Eventime, and I had a four-hour mission across town to get to Vila Isabel, pick up my bags and drop off Davi’s key and then get myself back to Ipanema. Me being me I missed the bus stop on the way back and got off at the end of Leblon beach, a 3km walk away from where I needed to be. With all my gear. Anyway, I found the guys and we headed to Windsor’s for an epic session of Rockband. Rocking out and necking beers and rum! Come midnight Windsor and I hit the bar right across the road from his: more boozing. And Valéria, and older – only by 17 years mind – but very cute carioca.

Saturday was, perhaps inevitably, a write off; a lazy day on the sofa. Sunday too, though Hannes and I headed to an Adventure sport Film Festival in Cinelândia. Amazing films too: one about a British guy cycling from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego on a tandem, getting strangers along the way to hop onto is rear saddle and help out; another about a group of Frenchies scaling a 500m rock face set at 6000m in the Pakistani Himalayas. They made it to the top after a month of climbing, sleeping in suspended tents hanging precipitously off the face itself, and upon summiting were greeted with views of, well, cloud. A few days later I was able to well and truly sympathize.

More lazy days followed –  maybe I was enjoying the flat a little too much. Monday a wander along Copacabana beach during the day was followed by a business meeting with Pedro, a Rio-based sports lawyer, in a Gentleman’s Club. Tuesday Hannes and I got some supplies together for our 3 day hike that was going to be kicking off the next day, and I then made the most of the sauna and steam room complex in his apartment block: not every day you can do that.

Wednesday dawned grey but at least dry. It was time to get hiking boots back on…