smuggled in
the ticket for the 22 hour journey from foz to rio was ridiculously expensive, even by south american standards, but at least at that price our last long bus journey would be a comfortable one. not quite; as the beaten up old bus pulled into the bus station on its way from ascuncion in paraguay to rio the rickety polyester seats and grimy pullback windows put me more in mind of my bus journies through asia. i must confess to gaining a certain masochistic pleasure from these arduous bus trips, so much more interesting than reclining in banal comfort, but to pay $120 a head for such a passage set more alarm bells ringing about costs in brazil. still, although the ticket was extravagantly priced we certainly had our share of characters for company, most notably the old dear sat next to us desperate for conversation with anyone, even those like us who have no idea how to speak portugese; it became clear within minutes that our blank faces and politely nodding heads would not deter this fearsome matriarch, absurdly large chest spilling out of a skimpy pink vest top, from constantly leering over us with some rushed chatter in portugese before staring hopefully into our eyes in the hope that, at some point during our day long journey, we had pulled into babel. not even she, however, won the prize for our most bizarre copassengers, who revealed themselves as we pulled into the outskirts of rio only to have our progress halted at a customs post. the police had no doubt seen that the bus originated in paraguay and decided this warranted stopping us. our initial cursing of this sudden fit of bureaucracy melted away, however, when it became apparent that they had been right to be so officious. we had noticed when getting onto the bus that a number of people were tossing massive, 30kg plus, into the luggage hold but i, at least, had put it down to the exuberance which seems to possess people when packing to go on any trip. in india a root around an oversized bag like that would have produced blankets, spare clothes, spare spare clothes and food: here it produced guns. so it was that we watched as one of the passengers was held by the police, his travelling partners becoming increasingly agitated, violently chattering in portugese whilst balefully looking over at their detained comrade, as the officers pulled out all manner of tricks from within his huge bag. they eventually let us go without the gun battle that the camera wielder in me secretly coveted, and also without the smuggler. the next hour however was frenzied activity, as his accomplices set to work on the upper panels of the interior, producing numerous little packets of what sounded like pills and stuffing them into more massive bags before getting the driver to drop them off by the side of the major road into rio and giving him a little packet of something for his troubles. i have had some odd bus experiences in my life, but that was definitely a new one.so on to rio itself. first, the negatives. it´s expensive. no surprise there. what was more of a shock, however, was how totally booked up the entire copacabana area was for the weekend. we are talking literally not a, overpriced $22 for a cramped 6 bed, dorm bed in sight. everywhere we went we were told you need to prebook a week, a month in advance. the whole affair got me down a lot; spontaneity is the key to this kind of travel, so to be forced to make set plans, only alterable on pain of a night sleeping on the streets in the favela, was threatening to ruin the experience for me, as we were shunted and turned away from hostels, hotels and posadas, overpriced rooms all booked for the weekend.
still we managed to get sorted and are sorted now for the rest of our time away, allowing me to focus on the positives of rio, which are myriad. it is an incredibely vibrant place, the heterogeneity of its inhabitants resulting in native residents ranging from looking totally white european to completely black african, with all shades in between catered for too. a place where how much you blend in or stick out is largely in your own hands, wherever you may be from or look like. copacbana beach is spectacular; perfect white stand, cold atlantic viciously crashing into the shore, but it is the people and the sounds that are most amazing; hawkers selling anything from shrimp to earrings, sun worshippers all wearing identically tiny outfits oblivious of whether they look catwalk perfect or spill out of them from every angle. friday night saw us hurtling through the streets of rio at unbelievable speeds, white knuckles on clenched fists both clutching railings barely sufficient to halt being tossed through the air as our cackling driver applied the accelarator or the brakes with equal vigour and imprecision, to the street party in lapa, a weekly congregation of thousands of people spilling out of bars onto the streets drinking beer and trying to find a spot to dance or pose. last night we went to a samba night in the favela to watch one of the carnival schools prepare their moves for the carnival. amidst some frankly astounding arse shaking from the younger girls, the real stars for me were the old dears. no blue rinse here, as the old ladies did some hip shaking which belied their years, happily bawling out the tunes whilst twirling a hand in the air. samba for blokes is basically a slightly bouncy version of the dad dance, but the ladies really can move.
off to the small rainforest island of ilha grande next for a few days of perfect beaches before heading back to rio for our final week. it may bankrupt us, but at least it will be entertaining on the way.
posted by bicrom @ 4:29 pm
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