Friday, June 19, 2015

Last Day in Rio: Bits and Bobs of Sightseeing Accomplished.


    
Monday, June 15, 2015
Last Bits and Bobs of Rio Sightseeing Accomplished!

            I awoke on my last full day in Rio and took stock of my fridge—I needed to finish all my food supplies before I left my apartment at 6 pm for the taxi ride to the airport for my flight home. Yes, Siree Bob –all good things must come to an end and I had made use of every available moment in the Marvelous City and felt ready to get back home. Brekkie was all the bits and bobs I could rustle up including muesli with milk, croissant sandwiches (some of which I packed up for lunch and then early dinner as I would not be airborne till 10.00 pm).

            I spent the next hour packing, cleaning up my apartment and getting the garbage ready for disposal. I wanted to leave the place as pristine as it had been given me. Only when I felt all set to return to my apartment and leave immediately for the airport, did I shower, change and get out for the last time to see those parts of the city that I had not yet covered.

 Off to the Metropolitan Cathedral:

The first item on my agenda was the Metropolitan Cathedral of Rio, an unmistakable conical building that I could see from a distance every time I walked through the neighborhood. When I did get there, about 15 minutes later, I found a lot of people sprinkled around the pews in prayer. The Cathedral is a magnificent modern prayerful space that has no supporting pillars within. Four huge stained glass windows run from floor to the ceiling. They sport contemporary designs in keeping with the general design of the church. Each is in a dominant color: red, yellow, blue, green. The overall design is quite ingenious as it seats 5,000 people with standing room for 20,000! The catehdra or Cardinal’s Chair is very prominent in the front. Although I am not usually fond of modern churches, I thought this one was pretty special.

 The Presbyterian Church of Rio:

            On my way towards Cinelandia Square, which was the next item on my agenda—all within easy walking distance from where I lived—I passed by another striking Gothic-style church. It turned out to the Presbyterian Church of Rio and it had a wonderful sculpture in the front featuring the Brazilian priest who introduced the Presbyterian denomination to the country. I stepped inside briefly to take in the interior design which reminded me of most American Congregational churches. It is wonderful how in these spiritual places one can really turn off the bustle of the city and find quiet solace.

 Circumnavigating Cinelandia Square:

Within five minutes of leaving the church, I was in the lovely environs of Cinelandia Square—so-called because it is surrounded by cinema houses and in the 1930s became the center of movie-going in Rio. A few of the theaters that encircle the square still screen films. Dominated by the equestrian statue of Dom Pedro I, the monument in the center of the square reminded me very much of the Albert Memorial in Hyde Park, London, especially because it was flanked by four sculptures each of which represented a different South American river. Those sculptures are spectacular being surrounded, as they are, by native indigenous people of the rain forest. Other than taking pictures, however, there was not much to do. Besides the square was filled with Rio’s homeless and other dodgy sorts and I did not feel like lingering too long in those surroundings.

Inside the Real Gabinete Portugual de Leiture:

            My next port of call, also just five minutes away, up Avenida Passos, was the original Portuguese colonial library that was built in the ornate Manueline style in 1837. But en route to finding it, I passed by yet another church—by this time, I have to say that although I visited each of them, I found it hard to remember their names and the features that made them distinctive. In downtown Rio, there is literally a church every two blocks. Indeed each starts merging into the other but for anyone looking for places to pause in prayer, there is no dearth in Rio.

            The library which was just one street away on Rua Luis Camoes is grand from the outside and quite simply spectacular within. I noticed several other foreign visitors making a beeline for the space for indeed it is one of Rio’s hidden gems and I was mighty glad I had read several guidebooks that recommended a visit. Inside, I found myself entering a vast Gothic-style hall that reminded me immediately of the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York. In this cavernous room, there are over 150,000 antique, leather-bound books, paintings, sculpture and quite the largest wrought-iron chandelier I have ever seen. This can dip down all the way to the floor so that candles could be fitted into it and lighted and then the entire contraption is raised up to the ceiling to illuminate the space. Needless to say, in this day and age, fire of any sort is not allowed in the building which is fully electrified. Just to walk around the space and take in the two-tiered splendor of the library made my morning seem well spent. I would heartily urge every visitor to Rio not to miss this architectural gem. As it is still a working library for scholars doing historic study, it was nice to see readers pouring over manuscripts. Among its many treasures is a first edition of Portuguese poet Luis Camoes’ O Lusidas—which I had also seen in Portugal.

 The Church of St. Francis of Paula:

               My next visit was to yet another church—the Church of St. Francis of Paula which wears its age quite visibly on its sleeve—it is old and grey and faded, both inside and out. I was pleased to find it open as on another morning I had passed by and found its doors firmly shut. Here too the square surrounding the church is filled with seedy characters whiling away their time. In many ways, I was reminded of Bombay as I passed through these rubbish-lined streets.

 A Brief Visit to Casa Cave:

            A walk down one of the nearby lanes called Rue de Ouvidor then brought me, quite by chance, to another confectionary and coffee shop that had been written up in my guidebook: the Casa Cave. This chic French patisserie has been a Rio institution for centuries and after a recent thorough refurbishment looks spanking new. Inside, there were patrons flush with cash, sipping their coffee and savoring pastries and cakes. I would, no doubt, have enjoyed one such treat had I not been so stuffed after my fairly recent breakfast. So I regretfully toured the inside casually and moved on.

 The Convent of St. Anthony and St. Francis of Penetencia:

            My very last bits of sightseeing included two old and very beautiful churches perched high on a high overlooking the Carioca Metro station and it was there that I next headed. The Convent of St. Anthony is one of the oldest churches in Rio—it dates from the 1500s and the present church was built between 1506-1511. You take an elevator to the top if you do not wish to climb the winding hillside route that gets you to the church entrance. Inside, I found that Mass was in progress and that the church was fairly full. I did not linger long inside the church but did take the elevator to get down to the floor level again. Outside, I made a sharp left turn with the intention of seeing the Church of St. Francis, but als, it is closed on Mondays and I could not get inside.

 Off to Ipanema for the Last Time:

            It was about this time that the first drops of rain hit my head. I was grateful, therefore, to escape into the Underground train and ride it all the way to Ipanema with the idea of going in search of souvenir flipflops for a few close folks. But in the half hour that it took me to reach there, the heavens had opened big time and the drizzle had developed into a steady downpour. The temperature also fell dramatically and it turned quite chilly.

            Not having an umbrella with me, I had little choice but to brave the raindrops and off I went determinedly looking for the shop called Hawaianas. It was not long before I selected several pairs of slipflops which are mandatory beach gear on the sands of Rio—those together with the skimpiest bikinis and sarongs are the customary wear and I was happy to pick up some really colorful pairs for only a few dollars.

            With my goodies tucked in a bag, I passed by the snazzy stores of Ipanema and made my way to the metro station for the return ride home. I might have stayed longer but the rain put all such plans at bay. Half an hour later, I was home, eating a sandwich lunch, almost finishing up the last of my ice-cream and getting my bags organized for departure. I managed to do a good bit of reading while waiting for Rosana who was scheduled to arrive at 6.00 pm to put me in a cab, take ahold of her keys and say goodbye to me.

 Leaving Rio de Janeiro:

            Promptly at 6.00 pm, my doorbell rang and despite the rain (which would have made the finding of a cab challenging), Rosana arrived and put me into a waiting vehicle. Our goodbye was swift as the rain put paid to any lingering. I handed over the key to the place that had been my home for about a week and in the pouring rain, I thanked her for her enormous hospitality and left the city of Rio behind me to take the highway to the Galeao airport.

            Traffic was awful since it was rush hour, but in a little more than an hour, I was safely deposited at the airport and went in search of my flight. There is little of interest to tell about another routine flight. Dinner was served, I watched a truly fabulous film called The Changeling featuring Angelina Jolie and began another—but then I fell asleep for a good four hours and by the time we were hovering over US soil, it was time for breakfast and disembarkation.

 Concluding Remarks about Rio:

            Rio de Janeiro was every bit as pretty as I had been led to expect. It was predictable—a BRIC nation, like India, poised for progress—but it was also full of surprises. I felt that I did get to know it intimately if briefly and my living like the local Cariocas had a lot to do with it. In commuting like they do, in buses and on the Metro, in frequenting the locales that they do (the beaches, the busy commercial streets, the historic coffee shops and bakeries), I had experienced their daily routine. In poking into their churches, museums, restaurants and gardens, I received a very good idea of how they lived. I had tasted traditional Brazilian food and cocktails, lived in a typical Rio apartment building with local residents (instead of in an antiseptic hotel), I had rustled up simple meals in my own little space (which made me feel quite like a resident). I had spent time with local friends who enlightened me constantly on their lifestyle, customs and ways of life. In using every second as productively as possible, I notched up dozens of miles on my pedometer—yes, I walked an average of 6 and a half miles every day with my record on a single day being 7 and a half miles! Yes, in the final analysis, I came away from Rio as much more than a visitor.

            For a little while at least I did feel truly like a Carioca. And for that opportunity I am truly grateful.

            Many thanks for following me on this journey as an armchair traveler. It is because you have always been a faithful follower of my blog posts that I feel motivated to continue to write them. For the moment, I say Ciao…

            May the road always rise up to meet you…                           

    

Sunday Mass in a Monastery and Hitting the Museum Mile


Sunday, June 14, 2015
Mass in a 16th Century Monastery, Hitting the Museums and Dinner with Friends

            My new Polish friend Prof. Anna Sobolewska was supposed to accompany me to Sunday Mass at 10.00 am at the 16th century Monastery of Saint Benedict (Monaesterio de Sao Bento) and I was delighted at the thought of her company. But by 8.00 am, she texted me to say that she had to cancel her plans as her flight was pre-poned and she had not yet packed for departure. This left me to shower and eat a gargantuan breakfast with the intention of finishing the bits and bobs in my fridge: cereal with milk, passionfruit yogurt, ham and blue cheese croissant, papaya, coffee—all while incomprehensible Portuguese TV was on! Then I took the metro to Urugiana Metro station from where I used my Rio city map to find my way to the Monastery.

            The area was absolutely deserted at 9. 30 am—good job I found out in my guidebook only later that it is ill-advised to wander the downtown area at the weekends when it is empty as all sorts of vagrants hang around there and they can be dangerous! Although by this point in my stay in Rio, I had become accustomed to watching my back (literally), I still ought not to have gone in search of such a remote church on my own. But search for it I did! And it was really hard to find—being perched high on a hill with a winding route I had to climb.

 Mass at the Monasterio de Sao Bento:

            And the reason I chose to hear Sunday morning Mass at such a remote church was because it was held in an old Benedictine monastery that is still a working habitat for monks. They monks sing the Mass at 10.00 am on Sundays using the Gregorian chant. Since I get to hear this beloved ecclesiastical music only rarely, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. So there I was! When I finally found the place, I was amazed at the plain, unadorned exterior of the church that looked like a largeish house. However, although it was still only 9. 50 and Mass wasn’t going to start for another 10 minutes, I entered the huge, grand Church doors only to discover that it was packed to the gills with standing room only!

            And what a church it turned out to be! If there was only one church I would choose to see in Rio, it would be this one. It was simply Over The Top exuberant. It is the finest example of Brazilian Baroque in Rio, and you would be well-advised to take along your sunglasses as there are countless kilos of gold all over the church. Every single inch of it is strung with carved wooden decoration in the Baroque mode (faintly reminiscent of my favorite 16th century English wood carver Sir Grinling Gibbons) that is then completely covered with gold leaf. A few minutes later, Mass began. I had found a corner in which to stand peacefully and to observe the Eucharistic celebration and I had a sheet of paper with the day’s liturgy in Portuguese but which I could easily follow.

A con-celebrated Mass, it had all the trappings of grandeur—a bevy of impressive-vestmented priests, a long procession of monks wearing their traditional Benedictine brown robes, lots of incense floating about the church and rising up to the gilded altar constructed in the Portuguese tiers with which I was, by then, completely familiar. I love the drama of the Eucharist in such opulent surroundings with music (yes, those stirring Gregorian chants were profoundly atmospheric); but what is heartening when one travels outside the US is how vigorous congregation response is. The thousands who filled the church were fervent, devout, loud in their responses, attentive to the proceedings—in every respect, they were active participants and where the hymns were common ones in Portuguese, they sang lustily. Just before Mass ended, I crept into the Blessed Sacrament Altar which is the holiest and most ornate part of this church—ever single inch in this chapel is covered in pure gold! The church is being lovingly refurbished and although it dates from 1590 when it was first founded, you would think it was built yesterday—so fresh and stunning is the interior.  I loved every second of it and was gratified that I took the risk to seek and find this church despite the presumed dangers. Here is a link to the church website for anyone interested:
http://www.osb.org.br/mosteiro/index.php

 Marching Off to Museums:

            It was time to hit the Museum Mile—Rio has several and had I more time, I would, no doubt, have seen them all. But I had to make choices and every guidebook had extolled the virtues of two: the Museum of Fine Arts and the Museum of National History—so those were the ones I chose. As luck would have it, entry to both museums is free on Sundays. Although I expected them to be mobbed, I decided to go on a Sunday anyway.

 Popping into Candelaria Church:  

It was about a fifteen minute walk from the Monastery through the heart of Centro (downtown Rio) to the Museum of Fine Arts—at which point I passed by and briefly entered the Church of Candelaria—Igrejia de Candelaria. This church reminds one immediately of the Pantheon in Paris or St. Paul’s Cathedral in London on the Berliner Dom in Berlin—like all of them, it has a gigantic dome and twin spires in the front—very different from most of the churches in Rio that are built in the Portuguese vein, this one is very imposingly Neo-Classical. Inside, there are paintings, stained glass windows, an ornate carved pulpit, towering Greek-style Doric pillars, cupolas and interior domes—all very moving indeed. Lots of tour buses lined the square and the presence of al lot of folks meant that the church was between Masses. Here is the website: http://mapadecultura.rj.gov.br/manchete/igreja-da-candelaria

Viewing the Municipal Theater:

            I arrived at the lovely Neo-Classical building of the Museum of Fine Arts at 11. 50 and discovered that there was one woman waiting at the entrance. Turned out on Sundays, the Museum does not open until 12 noon. That gave me 10 minutes to survey the lovely area outside the museum which comprises a beautifully-designed square over which the Municipal Theater (Theatro Municipal) dominates. This beautiful building was constructed in 1909 in imitation of Paris’ Opera Garnier as a part of the area to be known as Cinelandia—a space devoted to the Arts and Culture. Like the Opera Garnier in Paris, it presents a different scene from each changing perspective. From the outside itself, I could see how well Baroque influence had been translated into its design. It has a massive gilded ornament on the towering cupola, Greek pillars, heavy wrought-iron gates and walls covered with paintings. Guided tours are offered during the week but alas, none on Sunday. Hence, I missed the opportunity to peek into one of the most elaborate interiors in Rio. Operas and other musical compositions continue to be presented here and some of the world’s best-known performers have graced its stage. After taking many pictures from varied angles, I returned to the Museum. Here is their website: http://www.theatromunicipal.rj.gov.br/

 Off to the Museum of Fine Arts:

            Finally, at 12 noon, I was given a free ticket to enter the Museum of Fine Arts and for the next one and a half hour, by focusing on the main highlights contained within, I acquired a very comprehensive idea of the collection. It is the pride and joy of Rio and while it is small by international standards, it contains a very heartening clutch of works by artists of which I had never heard but who are stars in the Brazilian cultural firmament. Among the most stirring works I saw were:

1.      The Sculpture Gallery which contains casts of some of the world’s best-known sculptural works such as the Laocoon (from the Vatican), the Winged Victory of Samotrace (from the Louvre) and Michaelangelo’s Prisoner (from the Academia in Venice). Each of these was a joy to revisit.

2.      Victor Meirelles: The First Mass in Brazil, painted in 1861 it is an imagined replica of Jesuit priests saying their first Mass upon landing on Brazilian shores soon after the colonial discovery of the country.     

3.      Victor Meirelles: The Battle of Guararappes. A huge floor-to-ceiling canvas that has a touching self-portrait of the artist embedded in it seen wearing a cap with the figure 33 on it.

4.      Pedro America: The Battle of Avai. It is supposed to be the largest canvas ever painted on an easel. It covers floor to ceiling of a very large gallery and is deeply impressive.

5.      Almeida’s Arrufos (The Tiff): Not a relative, this 19th century artist depicts a married couple that is in disagreement. The exaggerated emotion of the Victorian Age is very amusingly depicted.

There was a great deal of Modern Art as well, but I very quickly went through it all as I wished to focus on the work of Brazil’s best-known creators. It was a wonderful opportunity to discover the richness of the country’s artistic tradition but also to discover that despite the fact that the museum is free on Sundays, I was one of no more than 20 people in the entire building. In fact, the guards outnumbered the patrons!  Such a pity! 

Exploring The National History Museum:

It was time then to move on to the National History Museum—by this time it was 1. 30 and I was glad for the sandwiches in my bag as not a single restaurant is open. Brazilians take Sunday rest very seriously, it appears and since the Museum of Fine Arts has no café, I might have gone hungry had I not carried food (This is the reason why I always make sure I have snacks like nuts and protein bars with a bottle of water in my bag when I travel for I never want to be caught hungry and lacking energy).

Same story as I attempted to find this museum. Every street was deserted. Although this is the very center of the city, the fact that it is highly commercial and surrounded by business high rise buildings means that there is no one around on Sundays. Following my map, I found it tucked away in a hidden corner and since it only opened at 2. 00 pm on Sundays, I had a 5-minute wait before I was let in with about 10 other people.  

But what a brilliant museum it is! From the minute you enter the fort-like building—a beautifully well-preserved relic of Brazil’s colonial past, you are swept into a history of the country that is chronologically presented with the greatest variety of displays. At the end of the day what I discovered about Brazilian history in under two hours was just astounding. There are basically three phrases to it: the Pre-Colonial Period with emphasis on Brazil’s indigenous people (there were a lot of anthropological artifacts here); the Colonial Period (this was the most extensive as it contained a great amount of detail on the Portuguese discovery and colonization of Brazil, the moving of the capital from Lisbon to Rio by Dom Pedro II to escape Napoleon’s takeover of Europe, the construction of the grand city of Rio in imitation of Baron Hausmann’s Paris. This portion included the sad history of slavery in Brazil for the Portuguese brought in slaves from Africa and, as everywhere in the world, treated them in horrendous fashion. Finally, there were extensive galleries on Post-Colonial Brazil (the country became independent in 1822 although slavery continued until 1833).  Through paintings, dioramas, sculpture, china, glass, pottery, metal objects, jewelry, costume and clothing, one could see the entire drama of Brazilian history unfold—and it was terrific. I found myself fully absorbed and dearly wished to have had more time and energy to linger.

But, as can be imagined, by then I was well and truly wilting and had only one goal in mind—to get back to my apartment for an urgent lie-down. I found the Metro station after a long uphill trudge and when I was in the darkened cool interior of my room, I made myself a substantial snack of fruit and yogurt and then fell upon my bed exhausted and had a long nap. When I awoke, about an hour later, it was time for me to dress and go out to dinner with my friends—and I looked forward to the interaction as, being alone, I had not spoken to a soul all day!

 Drinks at Home and then Pizza Dinner with Friends in Santa Teresa:

            When I was ready, I climbed the hill and in five minutes was in the terrace apartment of my friend Rosana and her partner Andrew. They had invited me for drinks in their home and before long, we were joined by Renata, another Professor friend of theirs. Rosana then elected to make us caprinhas—but this time with a twist. She used fresh passionfruit--pulp and juice of this extremely flavorful fruit--mixed it with cashaca and voila! With ice clinking in the glass, it made for a very refreshing drink as we nibbled on olives, cheese and nuts.

About an hour later, we left the apartment to go out in search of dinner—they suggested we take a taxi to the hills of Santa Teresa and within a few minutes, we hailed one and were in Guimares Square where I had been a couple of nights previously. In a lovely outdoor patio of a restaurant called Cafecito whose courtyard and architecture was very reminiscent of Goa or Bungalow 9 in Bombay, we had a delicious Pizza Margarita and one with flash-fried shrimp that was simply outstanding. What a great group we were—in deference to me, the conversation was entirely in English and I was struck by the unspoken agreement to which they came as they considerately wished to include me in it. It is this sort of sensitivity to the foreigner that I find particularly heartening when I am traveling and I did appreciate the effort that my friends made on my behalf.

Soon it was time to say goodbye and walking down Guimares, we found a taxi before long. Renata, who lives in Ipanema, jumped into it and dropped me off, three minutes later, at my building. All that was left then was to check my email (yes, I finally did have internet connectivity in my apartment!) and get ready for bed.

Until tomorrow, ciao!     

    

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Brazilian Churrascaria, Discovering Centro and Meeting an Old Friend


 
Saturday, June 13, 2-15
Brazilian Churrascaria at Conference Banquet, Discovering Centro and Ipanema Again

            Saturday morning saw me consume a heavy breakfast of fruit, croissants stuffed with blue cheese and ham, coffee and passionfruit yogurt. I showered, dressed and off I went back to the Windsor Florida Hotel to attend the penultimate session of the day—a panel featuring economic development in Kerala, India, and another by Prof. Ashok Malhotra of SUNY, Oneonta, that interested me immensely. They were just as absorbing as I expected them to be and I felt fully gratified about having listened to four inspiring speakers.

Discovering Centro and Praca XV November:

We were then all free until 2.00 pm when the concluding Conference Banquet was to be held. This allowed me to take the Metro from Catete station to Centro as I used my guide book to take a Walking Tour of the area known as Praca XV November. The area is filled with Portuguese churches each representing the glories of what is known as Brazilian Baroque. I popped in and out of several, then found myself in the maze of little by-lanes behind the main avenues where Rio has not changed in centuries. The architecture is highly reminiscent of what I see in Mapuca and Panjim in Goa--it is the colonial Portuguese aesthetic at its best. And although faded with age and lack of maintenance, it is still hugely appealing to me.

             Going through the Arcos de Telles (the only existing arch from Portuguese colonial days) and the Trevasso Commercial, I found myself in the huge square known as Praca XV November.
In the center of the square is the imposing equestrian sculpture of Dom Pedro II who made Rio his royal temporary capital and whose shadow (literally!) looms largely over the city.
And to my delight, being a Saturday morning, there was a flea market in progress. Now I can never resist the sale of antiques—so there I was, browsing through make shift stalls selling everything from old china, glass, porcelain, medals, coins, maps, fabrics and linens, cameras, light fixtures, etc. It was great fun to trawl through the stalls but nothing caught my fancy and before long, I was skirting the Paco Imperial—the main administrative building dating from colonial times and looking for a bus that would take me back to the hotel.
 
Off to the Brazilian Churrascaria at Porcao Ipanema:

            It was in about half an hour that I reached the hotel in time to join the rest of the conference party headed for the Metro station to get once again to the ritzy streets of Ipanema for the concluding Conference Banquet. We were a jolly lot in the train for, by this stage, we had gotten to know each other well and felt like old friends.

            Teresa, our liaison person, led the group to the restaurant called the Porcao Ipanema—supposedly one of the best restaurants in the city, for Brazilian barbecue that is known as Churrascaria (this type of meal is also well-known in Argentina and there are a few restaurants of this kind in New York City as well). We were led to a private room in which all 30 of us were accommodated and there, while drinks orders were taken, the thankyou speeches and gifts were delivered. It was all great fun and amidst much cheering and heckling, the deeds were done and the eating began.

            First, we were directed to the Salad Bar to take our pick of the offerings—and there were countless delicious salads featuring a mixture of fruit and veg. On a side table, my heart leapt at the sight of Feijoada, Brazil’s national dish, which is a thick pork stew made with black beans and sausages. It is eaten with a variety of fixins’ that include steamed rice, wilted greens, polenta and a variety of sauces and toppings with which I was unfamiliar. I was told not to leave Brazil without trying this dish—so I was delighted at the opportunity to taste it…but sadly, I was not much impressed. The Goan Sorpotel which was also a derivative of Portuguese colonial rule over India is, if I may say so, far more scrumptious! Still, I wasn’t going to spend a long while making comparisons because meat awaited table-side.

And by golly, it just kept coming. Every style of barbecued meat from beef (sirloin, chuck, T-bone, etc) were brought to the table together with pork, lamb, sausages and chicken. Before I knew it, my plate was full and I felt utterly overwhelmed as I stared at a plate that represented the worst side of gluttony. That was when I started refusing any more table-side offerings and focused on finishing what was placed before me. This place is a carnivore’s paradise and were I as crazy about grilled meat as some people are, I might have done justice to it. As it was, I have to say that I missed the American barbecue or steak sauces that we find on our tables, the mustard that one finds in France and the horseradish sauce that is found internationally. The meat was wonderfully succulent but a tad too ‘natural’ for me. We had a array of desserts to choose from and I went for the Chocolate Cake—but I have to admit that I was bursting by the time dessert arrived and would gladly have passed on it.

Coffee and Conversation with an Old Friend:

            Since I found myself at Ipanema once again, I thought it wise to call a local Brazilian gal that I had known a long time ago in New York. Ana-Teresa was once married to a good friend of mine called Vivian, but with the end of their marriage, our brief friendship also ended. Since she had returned to her native home in Rio, I felt it wise to make contact with her and was delighted to discover, from our phone call, that she was absolutely thrilled to hear from me after almost 15 years.

            Ana-Teresa told me to wait for her at the restaurant as she would come in search of me. Right enough, an hour later, we had an affectionate reunion and, at my request, we went on a long walk through the chic streets of Ipanema and caught up on the intervening years. I badly needed to walk off my big meal and she was willing to oblige. About a half hour later, we found a Starbucks and popped in there for a seated chinwag. While she had a coffee (I passed as I had simply no room), we continued our long conversation. It was as if all that time and distance had never happened.

But about an hour later, with darkness having fallen swiftly over the city, we parted—she gave me a ride to the metro station in her car and carried on her way—suggesting that I pick up Hawaianas (the Carioca word for ‘flip flops’) from a shop called Hawaiana before I left Rio as they are famous for their beach footwear and make a very light and sturdy souvenir. I thought it was a great idea and resolved to return to Ipanema on Monday.

            Back on the underground train, I was at my apartment by 8.00 pm when I sat down to a do a bit of reading for a book assignment on which I am working. I spend the next couple of hours deep in my reading and at 10.00 pm, got ready for bed.

            It had been a very productive day and I was proud of how much I was packing into each of my days in Rio.

            Until tomorrow, Ciao!             

This Girl's on Ipanema...and Leme...and Sugar Loaf Mountain


 
Friday, June 12, 2015
This Girl’s On Ipanema…and Leme...and on Sugar Loaf Mountain.

            I awoke refreshed to another bright and very sunny Rio morning. With breakfast of cereal and milk, passionfruit yogurt, a ham and cheese-filled croissant, fresh fruit and coffee consumed, I was ready to hit the sightseeing trails again. And this time I would cover two more Rio Highlights—Sugar Loaf Mountain and famed Ipanema Beach.

            Shower done, I dressed and was out the door by 8.30 am as my guidebook had told me to get to Sugar Loaf Mountain as early as possible, both to beat the heat and the crowds. Into the Metro train I popped and rode it south to Botafogo metro station from where I took a connecting bus to Urca. Getting to Sugar Loaf Mountain is a bit of a production as it a bit out of the way and has no direct access.  Still, I was proud of the fact that I found the right bus stop and the right bus despite the debilitating language barrier.

 Climbing Sweet Sugar Loaf Mountain (Pao de Acucar):

            Sugar Loaf Mountain has neither sugar (or sugarcane) nor loaves anywhere near it. It is so-called because its conical shape reminded early Portuguese settlers of the conical molds used for the straining of sugarcane juice for making sugar and cashaca, the fermented liqeur that goes into caprinhas. Like Corcovado, it is visible from many parts of Rio and sits, quite prettily, in lovely Guanabarra Bay which is dotted with sailing craft.

            As in the case of Corcovado, there is a contraption that gets you up the mountain—only this one isn’t a picturesque tram that runs through a rain forest but a modern-day, very spiffy cable car hanging on thick cables. For the sum of R62(approx.. $21) that included the return ride to and fro as well as entry to the summit, a visitor has just as stunning a selection of postcard views of the city—and this time with very little aggravation for there are fewer tourist hordes.

            So, joining other visitors in their quest for the cable car station, I found it tucked away at the end of the street on which the bus had let me off. I bought my ticket and ascended into the very modern cable car boarding station and was soon leaving Mother Earth behind and beginning my ascent to the top. It was a much clearer day too and the city was not enshrouded in fog. As land grew more distant, we were dropped off at the first landing level called Morro de Urca (Urca Mountain) which offered really stunning views of Guanabarra Bay from many angles as well as delightful sightings of commercial aircraft taking off from the airport into the blue Brazilian skies. Of course, I did take several pictures because my camera simply did not wish to stop. On the opposite side, I could see Christ the Redeemer spreading forth His embracing hands only to be covered in thick cloud every few minutes.

            A short circumnavigation of the mountain took us to the second landing dock for ascent to the next level. Another short spurt in the cable car brought us to the summit of Sugar Loaf Mountain as we climbed ever higher. Once up there, a fierce wind threatened once again to blow off my baseball cap and I clung on to it for dear life. A few paces ahead was a lovely look-out point that offered a stunning, unbroken view of Copacabana Beach with its beige sands and its spiffy hotels on the promenade. From other parts of the mountain, one could spy still more attractive curves and angles of this beautiful city. There were many opportunities, in fact, to receive bird’s-eye views of Rio which is not common in other cities. It is easy to take in the seamless connections between nature and human development for every structure seems to have been carefully considered in terms of where or how it would fit within the complicated land and sea scape. It was really a pretty introduction to the city from a darling vantage point and I do think that although Christ the Redeemer is the more famous of the two locales, Sugar Loaf Mountain has much more going for it.

On Vermelha Beach and the Claudio Coutinho Trail:

Upon reaching ground level, I briskly went in search of a Trail named after Claudio Coutinho, a famous Brazilian football player. It is to be found at the base of Sugar Loaf Mountain and comprises a footpath that has been cut into the mountain following the curve of the sea. In attempting to find it, I was on the sands of the much-lesser known Vermelha (Red) Beach which is devoid of tourists but filled with locals enjoying the sun, sea, sand and surf. I sat on the stone parapet overlooking the waves for a long while and munched on a sandwich as I watched fifty shades of Brazilian bodies gleam in the sun.

            For what is remarkable about Brazilians, as I discovered on this visit, is how multi-racial they are. Truly, as in India, you can find every shade of complexion in this complex land—from Caucasian white (direct descendants of the Portuguese colonial settlers who arrived with the ‘discovery’ of Brazil by Pedro Cabral in the early 1500s) to Afro-Brazilians (descendants of African slaves brought to Brazil by the Portuguese from their colonies in Angola and Mozambique) and every shade in-between as a result of the immense inter-racial co-habitation that has gone on in Brazil for centuries. If there is any form of racism in Brazil, I was not made aware of it during my short stay. Instead I found people living in great harmony together irrespective of their skin color or class—for it is also evident that, as in India, there are a plethora of economic levels of prosperity. Extraordinarily wealthy Cariocas (as seen in the sophisticated coffee shops) share space with the homeless and with beggars—both of whom I saw on the streets very frequently.

            After I spent a while musing and enjoying the hssh-hssh of the waves on Vermelha Beach where I spotted surfers, kayakers, swimmers and sun-bathers, I began my trek along the lovely pathway named for Coutinho. I also discovered, while in Brazil, that all the surnames with which I am completely familiar through my Indo-Goan heritage, are pronounced quite differently in India (where they have become heavily Anglecized). For instance, Coutinho is pronounced Coo-tin-yo. And Noronha is pronounced No-ron-ya. Moraes is pronounced Mo-raish and Soares is pronounced Su-or-aish. Mendes, therefore, becomes Men-daish. Keeping my ear closely sensitive to the sound of words as they are pronounced on the Portuguese tongue, I found great similarities with French. For example, it is customary to greet anyone you meet with the words Bom Dia which is pronounced Bonjia—its similarly to the French Bonjour which is also used to mean Good Day and begins any conversation is surprisingly similar.

            The Trailway was as delightful as I expected. It is not very populated so I did not expect throngs. But I was not afraid as there is an army base close by and the presence of military personnel in uniform was evident everywhere. On this trail, I passed by very pretty birds that looked like parrots but were very differently colored—I believe they are called tanagers. I also saw what looked like kingfishers with long sharply pointed beaks. Seagulls and dark black cormorants were everywhere bathing and sunning themselves on the rocks that jutted into the crashing waves. On the bottom, where the ocean met the land floor, I saw fishermen trying their luck. Families were picnicking on the edge of the trail seated on benches that afforded lovely views of Vermelha Beach. Indeed, it was a perfect morning for a walk and I enjoyed the trail very much. About a half hour into the walk, I turned around as I still had a great deal of exploring left to do for the day and did not want to tire myself out too much.

 The Girl’s Going to Ipanema:

            Back at the bus stop, I found the bus that would take me to Ipanema—another lovely long bus ride through the warrens of the city showed me many different faces of it. I loved the experience of traveling with local Cariocas and of becoming a part of their daily commute to work or their daily chores. I asked a girl seated in front of me to tell me when to hop off for I was headed to Ipanema and her English was good enough for her to assure me that she would do the needful.

            Like Copacabana, Ipanema Beach is famous globally. It was a song that put it on the tourist map—a song called The Girl From Ipanema with which all jazz enthusiasts are familiar. I was keen to get a bit of the local action there and when I got off at the Vincius Moraes stop, I could already smell the salt tang of the sea air. It took me two seconds to discover that Ipanema is a far cry from Copacabana. The approach to the latter is still seedy, run-down, unimpressive. The former, well…it turns out to be the most sought-after address is Rio and the hang out of all the most beautiful people. Trendy restaurants, high-end stores, designer fashion boutiques—they are all here in the three long streets and many by-lanes that compose the area.

But I wasn’t there for the shopping—it was the beach I was after. And when I got there, I found another endless stretch of black and white mosaic stone pavement and a wide white sand beach behind it. The waters were equally azure but the waves were far more in control for the  tide was probably out. It was a good time to wet my toes and peeling off my sandals, I waded in gasping at first at the coolness of the water and then enjoying it immensely. Many pictures later (for these land and seascapes just beg to be photographed), I was off. At Zona Sul, a lovely upscale supermarket on the corner of one of the streets, I stocked up on more food for the next few days—more custard apples (I simply could not get enough of them!), gorgonzola cheese, bottled water.

Then I walked to the subway and while on it heading home to Gloria for a much-needed rest, I read up on the history of the song that put Ipanema on the global map. Indeed, the long roadoin which I had been walking (Rua Vincinus Moraes) was named after the song’s lyricist—he and composer Antonio Carlos Jobim had created it in 1962 based on the fact that they would see daily a very beautiful young girl walk past the bar at which they drank and make her way to the sea. They knew that she was far above their league—she was young, they were faded musicians; she was privileged, they were penniless. They wrote the song for her because both of them fell in love with the image of this gorgeous girl and because Age had bestowed on them a certain truth of which she was unaware—that Time would rob her of her beauty, her vivacity, her hopefulness. So, the song is not just about falling in love but about regret at our inability to hold back the cruel hand of Time—rather like Shakespeare’s Sonnets really. It won the Grammy Award for Song of the Year in 1965 after Frank Sinatra recorded it with English lyrics written by Norman Gimbel.

Back home, I put my groceries away in the fridge and lay down for a while. At 4 pm, I awoke, got freshened up and walked to the Windsor Florida Hotel to attend a session at the conference that I was keen to hear. Right after it ended at 5. 30, we were supposed to be taken on a Walking Tour of the city entitled “Walking Between Night Lights in Downtown Rio” by Dr. Joao Baptista Ferreira de Mello, professor at the State University of Rio. But sadly, the skies had turned rain-ridden and the good professor decided to call the walk off.

Dinner on the sands of Leme Beach:

            Plan B went into action. The 12 of us who had signed up to take the walk decided to go out for dinner instead—to Leme Beach which adjoins Copacabana Beach—and that was what we did. We piled into taxis and hit the sands and, in one of the beach shacks, decided to eat the offerings of a very modest eatery. The waves made fine music in the background as Prof. Anna Sodolewska from Poland and I decided to share a plate of 10 bacalau balls and a giant plate of Brazilian fish—they served the curried fish whole —with rice and salad. Nothing to rave about, I’m afraid, but the joy of sipping another frosty caprinha on the sands of Leme was romantic and I soaked it all in.

            By 8. 30 pm, we were done for the evening—yeah, we profs are a rockin’ and rollin’; lot!—and into cabs we piled. I shared one with Prof. Theo from Metropolitan College in New York who dropped me at my building and carried on to his hotel in Cinelandia.

            All it took then were a few minutes for me to prepare for bed with brushing and flossing of my teeth and PJs to piled into.

            Until tomorrow, ciao!       

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Rio's Botanical Gardens & Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa


Thursday, June 11, 2015:
Rio Conference Calling, Botanical Gardens, Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa:    

            On the day of my conference presentation, I arose at 6. 30 am, did some reading in bed (I had downloaded Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy on my I-Phone), took a shower, ate a hearty breakfast of cereal with passionfruit yogurt, coffee and fresh fruit, and walked out of my apartment with growing confidence. In 10 minutes, I was at the hotel just in time for the Welcome Remarks at 9.00 am sharp by David Rosner and Michael Andregg. And then, we were off to the room in which my presentation would be made. I had a Powerpoint Presentation to set up and a paper to fish out and within five minutes, I was ready to go. Indeed, I turned out to be the first speaker of the conference and to a crowd of global representatives from many countries (many of whom were from Saudi Arabia), I was off and running. I spoke for twenty minutes on “The Clash of Titans: Quasi-Capitalism and Socialism in the Literature and Cinema of Post-Colonial India”, showed several slides on the screen and waited for the next three presenters on my panel to strut their stuff before the house was opened to questions from the floor. I had a very interesting morning indeed as I listened to the presenters as well as responded to questions and then within two hours, it was over. My official part in the conference had concluded. I was free to enjoy the city of Rio at leisure, attend several more panels and more presentations as and when I chose to and network with the delegates. I had a small coffee, nibbled at a chocolate and walked out into a brilliantly warm day for the next excursion on my agenda—a visit to  Rio’s famed Botanical Gardens.

 Browsing Through The Botanical Gardens:

             Several guide books had recommended a visit to Rio’s Botanical Gardens as a great place in which to discover rain forest vegetation. Somehow, I thought I would take a break from urban sprawl and sprawl instead in vast green acreage, far from the madding crowd. The hotel receptionist told me that taking public buses would make the journey long and complicated as it involved a change. He recommended a taxi and got me one for the agreed price of R30 (approx.. $10). I thought it was a steal but found myself stuck in awful traffic—thank heavens we had agreed on a price at the start—I was certain  I would have paid double that had I gone by the meter.

            Well, the Botanical Garden was probably my biggest disappointment in my travels. It was huge—hundreds of acres were covered with lawns and gardens and at the Entrance from where I purchased a ticket for R9 (approx. $3), no one informed me that there was a golf cart of sorts manned by an assistance that ferried people about the park. As it turned out, I was presented with a bilingual map and after surveying it for a while, decided to begin by a walk through the Parade of Imperial Palms—so-called because they were planted by King Dom Pedro II of Pprtugal when he moved his capital from Lisbon to Rio to escape the onslaught of Napoleon II in 1820. He chose to plant palms as a manifestation of Portugal’s colonial might. These tower above the visitors’ heads today and are quite the tallest palms I have ever seen.

              Next, I intended to see the Orchidarium (as orchids are my favorite flower). But after a long and very hot walk past many sculptured members of royalty, a gushing musical cascade, an arbor strung over with creeping vines, I had a huge disappointment awaiting me. The Orchidarium was closed because it was being renovated in time for the Olympics. While workers painted the inside walls of the green house in a brilliant white, I consoled myself with the thought that there were not many orchids to be seen anyway as it is winter in Rio.

            Instead, I was compensated for my disappointment by sighting a vast family of marmosets—small, black, tufted-eared monkeys, that were raiding a garbage bin, helping themselves to the contents before swinging up and huge a wide banyan tree. They were simply adorable and I ended up taking a bunch of pictures. They were the only wildlife I saw that morning although brochures state that the Botanical Gardens are a haven of bird life.

            I continued walking for at least the next hour as I inspected the varied offerings of this space, but nothing impressed me. Looking for a rest area to nibble on my ham and cheese sandwiches, I bought a bottle of cold water and picnicked in the company of a group of middle school kids on a field trip with their teachers. Finally, my visit ended with a nip into another glass house to see carnivorous plants that devoured insects that settled on them. I had never seen anything like these and was amazed to find succulents with tiny insects actually embedded in their waxy leaves. Another long stroll under the Imperial Palms brought me to the entrance of the gardens from where I looked for a bus to get me to the center of town. I ran into two tourists from Portugal who were looking for a bus stop too and we soon found out that we had to walk a good ten minutes to find the correct one. Eventually, however, when a bus marked ‘Gloria’ trundled along, I hopped in and was so delighted to find that it was air-conditioned and did not cost me more than the standard R3. 40. It was a very long and winding bus route indeed but again, I was in no hurry and thoroughly enjoyed the coolness of my confines, the opportunity to rest my feet and survey the wide-spread city.

            The bus dropped me in Gloria, just a block away from my apartment, and I was amazed at the joy with which I anticipated an afternoon nap. For indeed, I have to say that the heat was quite enervating indeed and I found myself feeling quite drained by mid-day. I made myself a cold chocolate milk shake, settled in front of the TV to enjoy it, did a bit of reading and then took a half hour’s nap.

Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa On Foot:

            With the early evening stretching ahead of me and the temperature having cooled down somewhat, I decided to go out in search of the highlights of the two neighborhoods adjacent to Gloria called Lapa and Santa Teresa. There were several structures in these areas that demanded inspection and I was keen to comply.

            I walked first to the Church of Our Lady of Lapa (Igrejia de Nossa Senhora de Lapa) which is appealingly antiquated on its corner location within striking distance from the far more dominating Arcos de Lapa or Lapa Acqueduct. Inside, I found an extremely old and very ornate Portuguese church adorned with ceramic tiles. Its altar was in the Portuguese mode with which I had become familiar on my travels in Portugal as well as in Goa, India: several step-like tiers climb to the top where a statue of the deity to whom the church is dedicated is placed. I spent some time in prayer, admired the splendid interior with its multiple statues and then left.

 Climbing the Selaron Staircase (Escadaria Selaron):

Just across the street from the church is a nondescript lane that leads to one of Lapa’s most intriguing attractions: the Selaron Staircase.  Although it was already 4.00 pm, scores of tourists were making their way to the end of the lane where the staircase was clearly visible. They are the handiwork of Chilean artist Jorge Selaron who described them as his “tribute to the Brazilian people”. In 1990, Selaron began to renovate the delapidated staircase running outside his house with brightly colored tiles representing the Brazilian flag. Initially, people laughed at him, but the project soon became his obsession and he neglected his primary work as a painter to create the staircase.

Very soon, Selaron was joined in the project by visitors from around the world who warmed to the idea and began donating tiles representative of their countries. In the 250 steps, there are today about 2000 embedded tiles. The steps that begin in Lapa, an old and rather run-down part of town, go up to the heights of Santa Teresa where there is a small shrine. Selaron began to see the project as never-ending. Every few months, he would start over an area that had already been completed—as a result, it is a constant work-in-progress. Today, tourists pose, as I did, on the steps and closely inspect the many tiles that represent so many different countries. It is a lovely idea on global ecumenism and collaboration and certainly a sight to be seen in Rio. No wonder bus tours bring loads of tourists from all over the world to grab an eyeful.

The Aqueduct of Lapa:

            From the steps, at the end of the lane, the Aqueduct of Lapa is only a few steps away. This is a towering structure that is reminiscent of the Pont du Gard in the South of France. It is built in two tiers and is freshly painted in cream (perhaps for the Olympics?). I took several pictures before attempting to make my way to the end of it in order to board the famous tram that would carry me up Santa Teresa hill.

            No such luck! I discovered that the tram has been temporarily discontinued as fresh track is being laid down on the hill of Santa Teresa…you guessed it, in time for the Olympics! My plans were dashed again, but as I walked under the aqueduct to enter the very happening neighborhood of club-infested, bohemian Lapa, I spied a Tourist Information booth and hurried to it. The sweet assistant told me there in broken English that I could catch a bus that would follow the same route as the tram and take me up to Santa Teresa—this neighborhood offers lovely views of the city as well as the charm of old architecture and well-preserved old houses.

 Exploring Santa Teresa by Bus:

            With darkness falling swiftly (around 5. 30 pm), I followed his directions, found the bus-stop and boarded the bus. And then I had to hang on for dear life because the driver kept pretending he was in Grand Prix! He went around the hair pin bends of the hills of Santa Teresa at top speed, came frequently to sudden frantic jerking stops and seemed to be having the time of his life. I had believed that only auto-rickshaw drivers in India were demented—but these beat them hands down! I had been advised to get off at Guimares Square and had told the driver to let me out when I got there. I have to say that despite my fears of dying in a bus collision, I quite enjoyed the ride.

But I was rather disappointed when we arrived at Guimares and I was told to get off.  There I was in what seemed like a gigantic construction zone. The uprooting of the tram tracks left deep trench-like trails on the hill top, the lighting was barely there, the area was almost deserted but for a few people awaiting a bus on the opposite side. There were a few desultory restaurants doing faint business but I could not, for the life of me, find anything even remotely interesting and wondered why I had made the wild trek up there.

Eventually I did find a store assistant who could speak a bit of English and she advised me to walk down the hill towards the two museums for which the area is famed. It was close to 7.00 pm by then and both museums would be closed at that hour. However, she said, their grounds afforded lovely views of the city lying in what appeared to be a carpet of gold and silver lights and I got a few good views. But it really wasn’t anything to write home about and, once again, I found myself worrying about personal safety as the area was almost deserted and the few folks I did pass were of the dodgy sort.

It was best to find the bus stop that would take me back to Lapa and I lost no time in looking for one. Fortunately, a bus arrived in under a minute and climbing in, I was deposited back downhill to Lapa from where I began the brisk walk home to my apartment. En route, I stopped at one of the casual eateries (run by the Chinese Mafia in Rio, as Rosana informed me!) and bought myself a ham and cheese roll and a chicken puff for a mere couple of dollars. A few feet ahead, I saw a man with a cart selling Churros—the deep-fried dough treat to which I had become introduced in Spain during our travels there. These were made on a tube like machine and inside each tube either dulche de leche (caramel) or chocolate sauce was squirted. I chose one of each for just R2 each and thrilled with my dinner, made my way home. The churros were outstanding and I resolved to buy them if I ever saw the cart again. Once again, the TV in Portuguese kept me company while I prepared for bed after what had been a rather disappointing day discovery-wise but a very satisfying professional one.

Until tomorrow, Ciao!