Day 3 - Tour of Rio de Janeiro

Bom dia a todos! As we pull our groggy, jet lagged bodies down 10 flights of stairs – we emerge into the noisy, hot streets of Rio. What guidebooks – and people – never told us, is that Rio is in a constant state of repair. The buildings, the roads, the sidewalks, random blocks of concrete – all broken and being mended in a continuous cycle of noise. Needless to say, wherever we went in Rio, there was always noise. Beach noise, construction noise, people shouting (Agua de doiche! Agua de doiche! or something to that effect), and cars honking. Be prepared. 

We exited our apartment and picked up some local baked goods that were ubiquitous in all the shops – cheesy, breaded meats and seafood. Cheap, satisfying, and salty. We hop on the metro – which consists of 2 lines – and head North to Carioca station. There, I grab a coffee (very nice – strong), and meet up with other travelers going on the Rio free walking tour (Rio - Free walker tours) [Which we highly recommend!]

Our tour was led by a well spoken Carioca (Rio local), who guided us along many of Rio’s most famous locations. The walk was a gentle 3 hours and was very informative. We walked through old cobbled streets, observing historical buildings – each told with their unique histories. One building was a restaurant for the aristocracy and presidents. Another, the palace of the first King of Brazil. Next, the home of famous entertainer Carmen Miranda. The House of Justice, the Municipal building for politicians, and the National Theatre. The aqueduct – now tourist train – and the Principal Cathedral. Finally, we finish on Rio’s famous steps – created from tiles donated from over 60 countries.

The group – consisting of German, Swiss, Austrian, Canadian, and British tourists, all stop for lunch together after the tour – dining in a local restaurant, eating typical meat and bean dishes. The group says their goodbyes and we stick with a Swiss couple, and a German tourist, all of whom have been touring South America for the past few months. We visit the large Cathedral – which was very pretty inside in a stark, unusual way. The building was designed in a way as to draw everyone together – looking up to the heavens.

We jump on to the little tourist train and ride up into Santa Theresa – which supposedly boasts a stunning 360° view. We couldn’t find this place. We did however, find a lookout point which proffered a beautiful view over the surrounding bay.

After a trek down from Santa Theresa (the train stops at 4pm) – we decided to watch the famous sunset of Ipanema and Leblon beaches at Arpoador. A gentle climb atop some well-worn rocks, on a small peninsula off Ipanema, we relax and watch as the sun strikingly sets before us.

We say Goodbye to our German traveler friend (his 2^nd last day of travels) and grab some nightcaps on Copacabana. The famous Rio drink – Caipirinha (lime, cachaça [sugar cane liquor], ice, and sugar) soothes our weary feet and we say goodnight to Rio once more.

Day 2 - Rio, in the beggining

Rio. After 10-and-a-half groggy hours on the red-eye from YYZ to XX, we arrive. Slowly awaking from the long haul, we step off the plane in to glorious sunshine. Rio. Hot, and already humid – the 10am Sun is unforgiving. We pass through security with nary a glance at our documents – two quick stamps and we’re in. The airport is modern and clean, however, as soon as we step through the gate – ‘taxi drivers’ and other men of unknown intent approach and offer their services. We politely ignore them and move through the crowd toward HSBC. Travellers tip – HSBC, so far, has been the only bank that does not charge fees for withdrawing money.

There are a few options to get into downtown (we stayed in Copacabana) – local bus, tour bus, or taxi. We chose taxi as we were exhausted, disorientated, and well – it’s easy. At the airport you go to the certified taxi counters as they give you a price before you depart and then you’re away with no hassle. We ride for maybe 40 minutes into town, weaving and dodging through traffic as if there were no designated lanes. This is normal. Traffic is – as it is in much of the world – very fluid. Where there is room to move – like water flowing through cracks – a car will find its way.

We pass through green hills, grey concrete tower blocks, and by the notorious ‘favelas’ – or slums of Rio. Men work topless – doing unknown jobs on broken slabs of concrete. A boy rides by on an emaciated, brown horse, cantering through the dusty passages. Colourful aluminium sheets cover shacks made of patchwork cements. We keep driving – past the poverty and into the downtown sector of Rio. The ‘Sugar Loaf’ mountains rise up on our left as we pass through a brightly lit tunnel and Copacabana sprawls out before us. Our quaint studio apartment was on the 10^th floor on Av. Prado Junior, guarded 24/7 by security – though we never felt it warranted. Rio, from our brief encounter, felt very safe. Most streets were well lit, with life flowing through at all hours. 

Our apartment, 1 block from Copacabana beach, was in a great location surrounded by small markets and restaurants. As we took the elevator from our 10^th floor for the first time, excited to explore the city, our first travelling disaster struck. 

The elevator lights flickered ominously on the 9^th floor, until complete darkness enveloped our metal cage. The elevator, devoid of electricity, drops unhindered for what felt like 20 feet. In reality it was probably 20 inches. The emergency brakes screeched into life and we stop – trapped, alone, in the dark, in a building where no one spoke English. My Wife, terrified at the realisation of her worst nightmare, grabs my arm as I fumble for my phone – our only source of illumination. My light flashes into life – highlighting our desolate situation. “Hello?” I scream. “Ola? Hello? Is there anyone there?” Nothing could be heard but the creaks of the metal cables – our only lifeline. I decide to slide open the elevator doors to assess our situation. Luckily, we’d fallen about 3 feet shy of the 8^th floor. “Ola? Can anyone help us?” No reply. Bang, Bang, Bang, as I rap my hand on the outer security door. 10 minutes go by as we stand in the scorching, gloomy cage. “Well, we were told not to freak out when things went wrong” I said to reassure my Wife in vain. “Ola!” a voice cried on the other side of the metal. “Ola… followed by long, incomprehensible sentences of Portuguese”. “Um.. There’s 2 of us trapped in here… Can you open the door?”. BANG. BANG. The man was apparently trying to open the door with brute force. Eventually, the door released its hateful entrapment with a rusted sounding groan. All we had to do was pull ourselves up 3 feet and we were free. I’d seen enough horror movies to be slightly apprehensive of - if, and when, the elevator car would free fall again – slicing my recently liberated body in half. Of course, this didn’t happen and we were both whole and entirely undamaged. We walked up those 10 flights thereafter.

After ‘the event’, our day and night was relaxing. We had a very warm, tranquil walk along Copacabana beach – watching the children play in the small, calm waves, and the adults play ‘foot volleyball’ in the sand. We stopped for dinner in one of the many beach restaurants where I enjoyed a burger in the local fashion (mixed meats, loads of cheese, and a ‘homemade’ garlic mayonnaise), and Rach had a local-styled hotdog. Those, mixed with a Pina Colada and a few beers made for a sleepy evening walk home, and a deep, blissful sleep. Sonhos doces todos!