Rio de Janeiro is one of those place names that always conjures certain images to mind; Jesus, arms outspread, standing watch over miles of golden sands filled with samba, skimpy bikinis and favela kids busting out the mad skills with a futbol. And it really kind of is exactly like that.
Despite the fact we visited right at the start of winter, we were relieved to find the temperature was still in the mid-20s most days, so we got to hit the beach a couple of times – although Ipanema was closed for swimming due to strong currents, Copacabana was still open for business. Even on overcast days both beaches were still chokka with locals and tourists alike, working on their tans, doing yoga, playing pevoley (translation: footvolley), which is basically beach volleyball crossed with football (no hands allowed) – about as Brasilian as a sport can get! – or just having a snooze.
Aside from the beaches, we visited both the big ticket Rio attractions; catching the train up the hill to get up close with Christo Redendor and then taking a gondola ride up Sugarloaf Mountain for a spectacular sunset over the city. Neither activity was cheap and I had wondered whether it would be great-view overkill, especially as we did both on the same day but actually, the experiences were quite different and I came away very glad we’d done both.
One morning we squeezed into a shared kombi-van taxi and were whizzed up the hill to the Santa Teresa neighbourhood; which is very historic and bohemian, full of cute cafes, craft stores and artist’s studios, plus a wonderful, peaceful viewpoint set atop the ruined frame of a huge mansion house. Another day we joined a large group for a walking tour round the central city, visiting the famous Lapa viaduct arches, Rio’s curious beehive-shaped cathedral, gorgeous, crazily tiled Selaron’s Steps, the surprisingly modest imperial palace and a historic neighbourhood (whose name I forget) with narrow cobbled lanes and cute traditional brasseries.
One of the most memorable things we did was – dragging a couple of German lads from the hostel along for the ride – to jump into a taxi bound for a slightly sketchy area between Centro and Lapa, and spend the evening at the Monday night Samba street party. Passionfruit caipirinhas, assorted meats on a stick over a charcoal grill, a lively, happy crowd of mostly locals but a few tourists thrown in for luck too, and a team of drummers pounding out the beats. Even when the rain progressed from drizzle to torrent and the tarpaulins could no longer cope, the party didn’t stop, merely crowded into a makeshift bar inside one of the storage facilities lining the street and carried on with its merry self.
Rio truly is a fantastic city with no end of ways to spend your time and money. However, I’m sad to say I didn’t fall in love with it the way I feel I ought to have; simply because I’d heard too much about how dangerous the city is and spent too much time second guessing myself about where the perils lay. I’m normally pretty pragmatic – occasionally bordering on blasé – about safety, however I’d had too many people say things along the lines of “Oh but Brazil is so dangerous, aren’t you scared?”, combined with all the reportage of protests and riots ahead of the world cup, and my only previous South America experience being of Argentina straight after the banks collapsed and it really wasn’t a terribly safe place… all resulted in me feeling distinctly edgy for the first few days, which definitely took the shine off the place for me. This unease was compounded when our tour guide kept telling us places in the central city we should avoid, not to go here, or there, or to walk there. At one point she very abruptly interrupted the tour to march us in the opposite direction from a group of four shirtless, shoeless teenage boys (who I can only assume were from a favela). And again, our hostel receptionist, upon giving us directions to reach Santa Teresa, warned us to make sure to stick to the busy streets and if we found ourselves on a street with no one else on it, to turn straight around and hotfoot it back to the main roads. I know that they were just trying to keep us safe but, in hindsight with another month worth of travel in Brazil’s under my belt now, I don’t think we were ever in a situation that we needed to exercise anything more than a normal amount of common sense, and all it did was make us anxious and wary of everyone we passed.
Luckily, we did start to find our footing and get a better sense of the place on our last couple of days and to relax and start to really enjoy this beautiful, dynamic city.
Eat The World 