Tour of Rio, Brazil
06/10/10
I woke up and learned that yelling at a wall can be beneficial. It kept me from randomly walking up to a perfect stranger, saying good morning, then punching him in the face. Walking around the El Misti Hostel, I disliked everyone - except my readers, of course, because you are just so attractive - for their constant yelling that kept me up all night, before waking me up early. If people feel the need to sing in the shower, I understand, though, please be masculine and sing boy band music, not scream heavy metal.
I was definitely not sordo.
My head felt pumped with methane gas from the urine stench of our room that was cannon-smashed into my brain. Our window could not be closed, residing over the downstairs bar. I was as angry as a victim of ID theft, though my name did not have to shortened to Rib, but I did want to be called Ron-Lover (what´s up, Swonson?).
Downstairs breakfast included stale bread and cold coffee that required at least 17 hits of sugar, a hypnotist and the Incredible Hulk for distraction to taste good. To inspire myself back to life, I would have required 17 cups of coffee and a defibrillator. Instead, I decided to focused my energy on battling a mild dose of the runs. I also learned that yelling “I have diarrhea” is only cool when playing Scrabble, as seconds after saying it, I realized a fellow Canadian heard me as I headed to the bathroom. With raised eyebrows and a tight lip nod, he gave that “yup” look that goes with the thought, I feel sorry for that idiot.
Downstairs we met a traveler named Steve who shared some great news - he had found hotels online that cost about the same as a private room at the El Misti Hostel. It was as if he held a magic wand over our world, and ba boom, everything suddenly seemed softer and more beautiful, as if even the lamp posts and fire hydrants were wearing bikinis. He lent us his labtop and we reserved four nights at the Golden Park Hotel in Gloria. We hoped for the best.
In the El Misti´s defense - beyond the fact that it was over-priced, stunk and most things were broken inside - it would be a good place to go if you are single. In our case, having traveled for over five months, our energy levels were low and we needed more sleep. The El Misti was about as useful for sleep as farting is for impressing the ladies. Trust me, I have tried.
In the afternoon, we went on a tour of Rio de Janeiro in a tourist van with multiple stops throughout the city. Heading up the swervy, cobble stone road up Corcovado Mountain, our bodies continuously swayed back at fourth. The road was surrounded with beautiful rock walls covered in vines and growing ferns.
“Since the Portugese landed here on New Years, they called the city Rio de Janeiro - ´The City of New Years´,” our guide said. The driver continously swerved left and right like we were driving up a candy cane. When we stopped, our guide told us not to steal plants as the whole mountain was a park and theft would mean arrest. I was glad I decided not to dress like a garden gnome.
After ascending 214 steps, according to our guide, we reached a gorgeous view overlooking the city. I quickly realized why the Christ the Redeemer statue was such a tourist wrangler.
From up high, we could feel the wind tossing down the mountain through the winding roads. We watched as new leaves danced in the warmth of the sun as they drifted down the mountain towards a city of white, wedged between green mountains and the blue sea. In every direction, towering mountains seemed to shoot from out of the ocean. It was one of humankind´s best attempts to harmonize architecture with nature, a view that was capable to calm the agitations of the soul, a magnificent scene with not one withered tree in sight. It was a pastured lane of greenary, a darkened, massive green vine filled with white grapes, fed from a blue horizon.
Behind us stood Christ the Redeemer - a stuate 39.6 metres tall, including its 9.5 metre pedestal, and 30 metres wide. At 2,300 feet, it sits at the very peak of Corcovado Mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park. It was one of the grandest symbols of Christianity in the world, an icon of Brazil, made of reinforced concrete and soapstone. Even the none religious, like myself, can appreciate its beauty, as if God was watching over the entire city.
After visiting many sights, including the Carnival strip and the Sao Sebastiao Cathedral that looked like a giant beehive, I was stoked to learn that Pele and I have the same sized feet, which should be no surprise to my soccer teammates (yeah right!). Our guide called him the “athlete of the century” and I was tempted to agree. To be the best ever at the world´s most popular sport, to me, deserves that title. I learned this at the Maracona Stadium, which was under renovation for the 2014 World Cup, where Brazil´s most famous footballers had their feet set in concrete like the hands of Hollywood.
All in all, Rio was a beautiful city. It was an artistic mix of the old and new, which blended in together smooth as rain in water; a place covered in flags and locals in yellow jersey - an energy fuelled by the country´s dream for success at the World Cup in South Africa. Although I never saw one, I am still quite confident Brazil must have also have a massive wax museum.
That´s all for now.
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