Becoming a True Carioca--A Full Day of
Sight-Seeing
Awaking on my first morning in Rio,
my I-Phone alarm did not go off: I had forgotten to put it on AM mode—it
promptly went off at 6. 30 that evening! Rosana was expected at my flat at 8.00
am ready to take me off for breakfast to a local eatery where ordinary folks
get their first cuppas of the day. I was eager and excited, but lay fast
asleep. Brazil is one hour ahead of New York time—so it was a few minutes
before 8.00 am, when I awoke with a start. Rosana rang my bell quite promptly,
five minutes later, then remembered she had left her cell phone at her place.
That gave me 15 minutes to get my act together before her return.
The Church of Our Lady of Gloria
(Igrejia de Nosso Senhora de Gloria):
About 20 minutes later, I was all
set. But we had lost precious time and Rosana had a conference to attend. She
was keen to take me for a visit to the Church of Our Lady of Glory (for which
the entire area is named). It is perched high on a hill and overlooks the city
center. Even from below, I could see its Portuguese archaic design. We walked
together briskly, dodging traffic, across Gloria Park and made our way to the
entrance of a funicular train that whisks worshippers up the hill to the
church—I was grateful because I did not fancy climbing a steep hill on an empty
stomach. Alas, the church was closed. We were able to skirt its periphery, take
pictures of its old-world ambience as well as lovely pictures of Rio spread
below us at a time when Cariocas were slowly getting ahead with their day. The
sun was a little too hot on my back—this is winter in the tropics, I thought!
The days are warmer in winter than Southport, Connecticut, in the summer!
Next
on the agenda was breakfast in a small local eatery—not the one Rosana initially
had in mind as there was little time for that venue; but a small, inexpensive
coffee shop of which Rio is full. People stop at any time of the day for a cuppa
and a snack—fried bolinhas (balls) with
sweet or savory fillings are common or stuffed puff-pastry triangles make
similar treats. Rosana ordered a cheese ball—cheese is not stuffed inside in
this case but is included in the dough which is then baked. I found its texture
too rubbery for my taste. I chose a large slice of banana bread studded with granola
and a large cup of American coffee with milk. It is customary to drink espresso
coffee here—dark, strong and black in very tiny cups. Not my cup of er…coffee!
Breakfast was delicious and on wiping our mouths clean, we walked for the next
five minutes to the Windsor Florida Hotel where the conference for which I had
come to Rio would be held. Rosana’s conference was in another hotel nearby.
Off to See Christ the Redeemer
(Christo Redentor):
At the entrance to the Windsor Florida
Hotel and having pointed out the Metro (underground) stop called Catete, Rosana
bid me goodbye and hurried off. I know from much travel experience that it is
best to ‘do’ the most important sights first—in other words, to prioritize
one’s sightseeing and to take advantage of good weather (one never knows when
rain will arrive to dampen touring plans).In cities, there is always the chance
of a transport strike or other factors that can close it down—best see the main
sights while possible and go down one’s list in descending order of importance,
I say.
So…it was to Corcovado—the famous
mountain on which the towering statue of Brazil’s most iconic sculpture is
located—that I made a bee-line. But how to get there? It is not served by a
Metro stop. Best to ask at Hotel Reception, I thought. So in I went to the
charming Receptionist at the Windsor Florida Hotel whose English was good
enough to get her message across. A number of hotel personnel converged around
me to offer the standard response to most tourists—to get somewhere, just take
a cab—and there was a string of them outside the hotel. Now cabs are very
reasonably priced in Rio, but I was keen, as I am everywhere in the world—to
live like the locals do. So I insisted on being told how to get there by public
bus (the cheapest and easiest way to see a foreign city). In a few minutes, I
was advised to walk five minutes up the street to the bus terminus at Largo do
Machado from where buses ran to Cosme Velho—the base for an excursion up
Corcovado.
And how easily I found it! At Largo
do Machado, I asked some bus conductors to direct me to the correct bus for
Cosme Velho—pointing to the places on a map was a good way to get answers to
questions. Another five minutes later, I was sailing off to Corcovado and
getting a free sightseeing tour of Rio in the bargain! Again, I kept thinking I
was driving through the streets of Bombay because so many similarities leaped
out at me.
About a half hour later, I was at
the terminus of the Trem de Corcovado,
a modern tram system that gets visitors up the mountain every half hour. I
bought a ticket for R51 (about $18)—this included return fares on the tram and
the entry fee to the monument. Crowds were gregarious and noisy—most were
Americans who had arrived in package tours groups, although there were hordes
from Singapore and elsewhere. Having to wait for a half hour for the next tram
allowed me to use the free wifi (as there was no sign of connectivity in my
apartment). It is amazing when one travels how sensitive one becomes to
re-charging points, wifi hotspots, etc.
When a half hour had passed, the
tram did arrive and I piled in with other merry-makers to climb the mountain.
It was a delightful 20 minute ride into the heart of the rain forest called
Tijuca National Park that was shaded and dappled at every turn. Trees that I
easily recognized from my Indian childhood flooded into perspective—mango,
cashew, papaya, banana, banyan. They formed a shady canopy as we climbed ever
higher when the first glimpses of the sculpture came into focus even as the
sprawling city of Rio grew more distant beneath us.
When we arrived at the summit, we
raced a few paces to the peak and then, there it was! My first glimpse, up close
and personal, of Christ the Redeemer. It is a towering work of art by the
Parisian sculptor Paul Landowski through a project engineered by the Brazilian
Hector da Silva Costa for which local Cariocas raised money as they went door
to door urging people to give. It is 98 feet tall with an arm spread of 92 feet.
The equivalent of Paris’ Eiffel Tower, this figure can be seen from most parts
of Rio (when the summit is not shrouded in fog). It stands on a tall pedestal
(like the Statue of Liberty) in which base in a really tiny chapel with room
for about 10 people—Pope John Paul II said Mass in it on a visit here but
although I wished to enter, it was all boarded up for refurbishment. This was
what I found in a number of places I visited: perhaps this is the wrong time to
visit Rio for the city is gearing up seriously for the 2016 Olympics and
everywhere you go, there is evidence of sprucing up. Next year this time, the
city will be glowing, no doubt; but for the moment, I realized I had to get
accustomed to disappointment.
Soon I joined the hordes on the
crest of the mountain to take pictures of the city spread out beneath me.
Unfortunately, it was a very foggy day and huge bits of the city were blanketed
in a haze. I took pictures as best I could and asked others to take my picture
to immortalize my visit to the sacred spot. The spread of the city at my feet
was an awesome feeling. I tried to acquaint myself with its many
neighborhoods—tall high rise apartment buildings dwarf the lower structures.
But there is order everywhere—Rio is not haphazard in the way that Bombay is.
It is not derelict in the way that some parts of Bombay are. Everywhere you
look from a height you see more mountains and islands. There are large stadiums
(including Maracana which will play a big role during the Olympics, no doubt)
and parks—so much greenery everywhere—and a huge lake called Largo de Roderigo
Freitas in the middle of the city. With so many water views, it is no surprise
that luxury high-rise buildings offering stunning views are packed into the
urban island spaces. They give the city a most interesting and very distinctive
feel.
The
Art Deco sculpture is indeed impressive, not just in terms of its massive size
but also the benign and kindly expression on Christ’s face. Sadly, visitors
make the whole experience a bit too overwhelming. There are crowds and noise
and cameras and professional photographers offering to take glossy pictures
with the statue in the background for a lot of money. There are souvenir shops
whose tacky wares were heavily overpriced. There are refreshment rooms whose
food and drink costs a fortune. Overall, it was not as pleasant an experience
as I had hoped and it was with little regret that I returned to the line to
take the tram back down to the base.
It was while waiting for the tram
that I made friends with a young guy who was reading an English novel on his
Kindle. He turned out to be a gay American professor of eco-tourism who teaches
at Ferrum College in Virginia. Also traveling alone as part of a work
assignment to create eco-friendly trails in the rain forests of Brazil, Chris
made a worthy companion as we talked about our plans in the city. He intended
to get to the Confiteria Colombo
downtown after our excursion in Corcovado, while I decided to go in search of a
place called Largo de Botacaria that Lonely Planet had suggested I visit
without fail.
Largo
da Botacaria was supposedly only a five minute trek from the base of
Corcovado Mountain’s tram station and Chris decided to accompany me on my
search to find this antiquated square built in the 18th century that
was reminiscent of Rio in that epoch. When we did find it, we were kind of
disappointed. I expected to find much more that the rather ill-maintained,
dilapidated Portuguese colonial era building with its faded paint and central
potted plant in the cobbled square. A river that flowed through it looked
little better than a large gutter. Still, I suppose, it was worth it to see how
old Rio might have looked before automobiles when people sat on their stoops
and gossiped the hot mornings away—as a couple of women were doing when we
visited. We spent barely ten minutes there, took a few pictures and left them
to their natter.
Five minutes later, we were back at
the public bus terminus looking for the bus that would take us to Centro (as
the downtown area is called) to go in search of Confiteria Colombo of which I too had read in my guidebook. This is
one of the old coffee shops that date from Portuguese colonial times—the 1700s,
a time when fashionable men and women stepped into these restaurants to sip a
coffee and nibble on a delicious pastry after a busy morning’s shopping for
luxury exotic goods that had been acquired through colonization. With a few of
these places still left in Rio, they are being well-preserved and patronized and
a stop in any one of them is a lovely experience of Rio as it once was.
Our
bus ride took forever as it wound sluggishly through the crowded streets. While
I enjoyed it immensely (as bus rides are, in my opinion, the cheapest and most
interesting way to see a city), Chris got fed up and recommended that we jump
off at the next Metro station to take the super quick underground train. I agreed
as I was grateful for his company that would enable me to learn how the system
worked. At Largo do Machado, we jumped off and under Chris’ guidance, I bought
a Pre-Paid card (the equivalent of a London Oystercard) and filled it with R20
worth of rides (each ride costs a flat R3.40 as on the buses). There is
something wonderfully comforting about having a flat transport fee over the
entire country! From Foz to Rio, the price of bus rides was the same! I
discovered that Rio’s Metro system is small—really tiny with no more than a
total of 20 stations. But it is marvelously bright, clean, spacious, modern.
Rio’s city map contains its Metro map as well and within five minutes, I felt
like a veteran commuter. It was ever so easy to get in and out of the trains
and to find seats within. All underground trains are fully air-conditioned and
quiet: here is where Rio differs from Bombay. While the trains in Bombay are
hot, smelly, dusty ovens filled with incessant chatter, here no one spoke and
when people do, they speak quietly. The trains get you up and down the city
speedily and conveniently and at about a dollar a ride, they are dirt cheap as
well.
Coffee and Conversation at Confiteria Colombo:
Chris and I hopped off at Urugiana
Metro station and, using our trusty maps, found Confiteria Colombo in about ten minutes, tucked away in one of the
busy commercial lanes of the Centro area. Once inside, the visitor is struck by
the delightfully antiquated ambience. There are wall-length Belgian mirrors
that reflect sparkling chandeliers that light up the cavernous space. All
wooden fitments are made of native jacaranda wood and a huge stained glass
ceiling (as in Paris’ Galleries Lafayette)
offsets the entire interior. It is opulent but in the classiest way.
A maître d’hotel led us past an array of dazzling show cases filled with
every conceivable pastry, frosted cake and cookie. A lovely hostess then led us
to a table for tea where we settled down with bilingual menus. Local Cariocas
were dressed beautifully—men in jackets and ties, women in pearls--as they
sipped their coffees and forked creamy cakes into their mouths. We felt a bit
scruffy in our tourist gear…but hey, we were there for the local experience.
Before long, we had made our choices: I got a most unusual item from the menu
(one I rarely see anywhere but which happens to be a personal favorite of
mine!): A croquette filled with Smoked Ox Tongue! I know, I know…you are
possibly shuddering, but believe me, I have always loved cold tongue and I
never can find it in the US. I also chose a Hazelnut Chocolate Pastry made of
Hazelnut chocolate mousse in a crisp tart shell—similar to the Pastel de Nata (Christmas pastries,
really little custard tarts, that were invented in Belem outside Lisbon in
Portugal where I had eaten them on a visit there). We washed our goodies down
with coffee—iced for Chris, a macchiato for me--and by the time we lifted the last
crumbs off our plates, we were well and truly full. Everything was delicious
but, more importantly, we felt as if we had experienced one of the oldest
traditions of this city—whiling away a few hours with coffee and conversation
in very good company.
With our bills squared away, Chris
and I hopped on to the Metro again. He was off someplace that he wanted to
cover before he left Rio for a trip south the next day. I was headed to the
city’s most famous beach—Copacabana, that had also given its name to a New York
night club (that I had once danced in early in my stay in the US—one that Barry
Manilow had immortalized in one of his songs. ).
Well,
I took the Metro down to Cordeal Arcoverde station and about fifteen minutes
later, I was looking straight at the water. It was about 3.30 pm by this time
and I have to say that the entire area is a bit tired-looking. Copacabana Beach
is wide and full of fine white sand. It was the local hang out and far from
upscale until the Copacabana Palace Hotel
opened in the 1930s in a grand Neo-Classical style. Then the beautiful people
began flocking here and before you knew it, the beach was on the international
tourist map.
When
I arrived at the promenade that runs along the waterfront, I was struck as all
visitors are, by the beautiful curving forms of the mosaic sidewalk in black
and white stone. In fact, these are an essentially unique feature in Rio—a
product of Portuguese colonial design. But since they have to be laid, stone by
stone, by hand, the process is laborious and expensive. Rosana explained to me
that it is hard to find local Brazilian labor to undertake this work and,
ironically enough, laborers are now being imported from cash-strapped Portugal,
to take on the repairs of these interesting sidewalks. Not the most convenient
for high heels, I have to say that I was grateful for the Hush Puppy Epic Mary
Janes that I had especially purchased for this trip as I had grown tired of my
Dansko Clogs (that had been my trusty footwear over many a mile in unknown
realms).
Anyway,
I spent a while lounging on the sands of Copacabana and watching the changing
human drama unfold before my eyes. Bikini-clad Cariocas were frolicking amidst
the towering azure waves. The water was crystal clear but the fury and height
of the waves made it perfect for surfing. Although I saw a lot of surf boards
sprinkled on the sands, there were no surfers in sight. Bathers yes, surfers
no. And it was hot! I had no intention of getting into the water because I
lacked bathing gear…but I was sorely tempted to wet my feet. Vendors went from
one customer to the next selling an array of products—beach towels, beach balls
and other toys, snacks, potato wafers, cold drinks. Kite fliers were busy on
another part of the beach that curved to the distant Copacabana Fort. The
seascape reminded me a lot of South Beach in Miami as the promenade here too is
lined by luxury hotels—Miami’s architecture is restricted to Art Deco buildings
while these are varied.
When I had rested my feet a while, I
began to walk along the curving black and white mosaic sidewalk towards the
grand hotel that had started the tourist rush to the water front.
There
in the cool air-conditioned space, I used the free wifi and the free loos and
took in the special ritzy ambience of five-star hotels everywhere in the world.
The Copacabana Palace Hotel has
played host to some of the world’s most prominent celebrities including Queen
Elizabeth II and there is a small exhibit on one of the floors that proclaims
its fame. I also had a sit-down on one
of the nicest sofas in the Reception Lounge and then, when I felt sufficiently
rested, I walked slowly back to the Metro stop, along yet another street in
order to discover some more of the area and feeling as if a bit of a lie-down
was in order, I made my way back to my apartment. I loved its central location
and was very grateful for the fact, as in the case of my London apartment, that
I could get anywhere in about 15 minutes.
A Late Afternoon Siesta Chez Moi:
I had my customary 40 winks. This usually
lasts 20 minutes and leaves me feeling really refreshed—the perfect cat nap. In
the quiet, darkened atmosphere of my bedroom, with city sounds shut off, sleep
came quickly and I dozed off and slept deeply. It was good to take these breaks
from the hectic pace of uninterrupted sightseeing.
At about 6. 30 pm, having changed
and freshened up, I walked with the confidence of a local resident to the
Windsor Florida Hotel which I reached in under 10 minutes, to meet the rest of
the delegates who would have arrived for the conference in which I would be
participating the next day. The Conference was being organized by the
International Society for the Comparative Study of Civilizations (ISCSC) and
its office bearers were already at the lobby when I arrived. I immediately
recognized its President Prof. David Rosner of Metropolitan College, New York,
who welcomed me warmly, exchanged a few words with me, introduced me to the
local Rio liaison person, Teresa Aguiar, and suggested I take the elevator to
the Roof Garden to meet the other participants over drinks. And it was there
that I had my first sips of the famous cocktail known as the Caprinha
(pronounced Caprin-ya) which is Brazil’s answer to the Cuban mojito. Made by
muddling limes, adding a shot of cashaca (sugarcane liqueur) and loads of ice,
the drink is wonderfully refreshing on a hot evening although I reckon it could
be enjoyed all year round. Snacks like potato crisps and assorted nuts were
provided by the bar and seated in the company of international delegates from
the US, Iran, Brazil, Poland, etc. I felt very much at ease. Over the next few
days, I would get to know this pack of participants well and I was glad to have
made their acquaintance as we literally broke the ice over drinks.
But by 8. 30 pm, I felt compelled to
return to my apartment. Although the area is well-lit and crowded, I was rather
worried about my personal safety and did not wish to risk staying out alone too
late. The brisk walk home took me less than ten minutes and in the quiet
privacy of my room, I reviewed my presentation for the next day, watched a spot
of TV in Portuguese, had a lovely hot shower and readied myself for sleep after
what had been an ultra-productive day of sightseeing that had covered two of
Rio’s highlights—Corcavado and Copacabana.
Indeed, by the time I switched off
my bedside lamp, I had begun to feel like a true Carioca!
Until tomorrow, ciao!
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