18/12 When my baby smiles at me ...

Sunday 18 December                                    Rio!!!

We woke up to the rumble of the thrusters as we edged into our berth just before 6am. We headed up to deck 14 for a look. The sun was not up but there was a fair bit of light. No sign of the Sugar Loaf mountain but the floodlit statue of Christ Redemptor extended its arms to us from Corcovada, quite some distance away, he looked tiny. 

Can you see him?  Centre of photo.

How about now?  More zoom?

OK, there he is.

Not the world’s most picturesque harbour view but exciting to be here anyway. We had our last raid on the brekky buffet, emptied the cabin and carried our hand luggage down to the Krista Lown Juh for the last time.

We were the first of a fleet of cruise boats coming into the harbour.  It was amusing that we ended up in a line with Pullmantur Sovereign, probably the cheapest cruise line, who give their guests free beer and wine, Azamura Journey, one of the most expensive, who run a free bar, and then MSC who won’t even serve us water at dinner, unless we buy it for about $3 a litre. To cap it off, the next boat in was Costa Fortuna (say it a few times until it gets funny).

And so our thoughts turn to Rio. The guide books warn you about the slum areas that are scattered throughout the city. They are lawless communities full of ribald and rowdy people who get intoxicated, gamble wildly, urinate and vomit in public and are generally degenerate. They are called Fevolas. Umm sorry I got that wrong . . they are actually favelas . . don’t know how I got confused.

We found seats near a window and J was looking out, providing running commentary on the workmen down on the dock who were dismantling a roof frame about 18’ above the ground. In the best 3^rd world tradition, they wore harnesses but they weren’t secured to anything.

Note the man climbing down onto the 'much too short for the job' ladder.

 As the next worker was about to climb down the end rafter slipped off the beam and fell to the ground, along with the man who had been standing on it. He fell on his head and didn’t move for quite a while, while his workmates clustered around. Eventually he sat up and was guided away. Am ambulance did arrive.  

With 3 ships tied up nose to tail the dock was pandemonium. Inexplicably, we were the rear boat but our luggage was in the front shed. The lilac 2’s and 3’s were all muddled and it took a while to find the second case. Somehow we muddled our way through the chaotic tangle of people with luggage trolleys and suddenly found ourselves out in the street – no customs or immigration. All that agonising over whether or not to declare the Toblerone!

Imagine 8,000 people with luggage trying to find a taxi. It was hard to haul trolleys over traffic islands etc and although there were a hundred or so taxis about, they were either parked empty or had drivers with fanciful ideas of charging 100 or 80 reals. Bob had told us that it should be 15 or so and there was no real urgency. We wandered about 250m up the road and waved down a yellow taxi whose driver was quite happy to use the meter. We then drove through the mass of disembarking passengers, trying not to look smug and superior while they waved desperately, reminiscent of Jews trying to get on Schindler’s train.

We were still basking in that “How good is this” feeling when it began to register that we were still heading the wrong way. Christ Redemptor loomed larger and larger and I began to wonder if the driver intended to run up a fare of R200. He obviously knew no Inglise and was absorbed in a soccer match on the radio so we just enjoyed the scenery until he swung round the mountain and soon enough we were in Bottofogo. He had R23 on the meter so we gave him 30, to his obvious delight.

The hostel is nice enough but our room sux – not just because it lacks airconditioning, room service and an ocean view, all it has is bunk beds and a fan. No table, no mirror, no cupboard, no window, no gold plated bidet. We have to share the toilet and shower with the plebs. How The Mighty have fallen!! And we fear worse is yet to come.

We ventured out of the locked compound into the Killing Ground of Rio de Janeiro. The travel guides do emphasise that this is like something between Johannesburg and Beirut. Our first target was an ATM, which we found next door to a supermarket. In short, after fiddling with about 4 different machines and accepting general advice but no direct assistance from a friendly local (remember Turkey), we extracted money and collected some tomato and avocado for lunch. Not long after, we dressed down for the beach and strolled down to Botofogo Beach, which is not a swimming spot.

The Sugarloaf is right next to it, a huge slab of granite towering out into the ocean. The road curved round the back and, according to the somewhat vague map we had, seemed to lead to Copacabana Beach. We decided to follow it around and strolled past some interesting sights, museums, naval HQ, cable car, steakhouses with valet parking and a very swank yacht club before the road opened out into a very pleasant sandy beach – that wasn’t Copacabana. Bugger. Oh well next time. By then we were feeling footsore and headed back, via an interesting diversion into a very happy neighbourhood where people were playing soccer in the street and drinking and singing in corner pubs. I wonder just what a favela looks like? Things got better when we found a KFC and Subway and soon enough we were home. A quiet night in the hostel, browsing internet and chatting with some Poms.