Rio de Janeiro

Brazil: Final Thoughts (for this trip!)

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Now that I’ve been back in the States for over 24 hours, the time has come for me to attempt to write a summary post of my trip to Rio. This task wouldn’t be easy for any trip; I love travel more than just about anything, and though some trips have been definitively better than others, all have been great learning experiences and full of fun stories to share. I find the task of summarizing Rio more than usually daunting. I have never felt so immediately and completely at home abroad as I did in Rio; it’s as if I were a carioca in a previous life.

I’m going to attempt to share lessons and general observations here, but there is so much to process, and I find myself so ill-equipped to put any of the Rio experience into words that it may not be possible to do this coherently, so I’m going to stick with bullet points; please forgive the fragmented nature of this post!

First, let’s go through the eight items on my pre-trip checklist:

  1. Devote an afternoon to eating feijoada: CHECK!
  2. Learn how to make the perfect caipirinha: CHECK! (two limes and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar crushed together with cachaça on top)
  3. Dance samba well with a hot Rio native: CHECK!
  4. Have a religious experience with Cristo: CHECK! (see below)
  5. Find out if Engov really prevents hangovers: partial CHECK
  6. Add a new bizarre food to my list: nope… didn’t encounter anything terribly crazy
  7. Speak as much Portuguese as possible: CHECK!!!
  8. Tour a favela: CHECK!!!
  • Portuguese: Many people were curious/anxious about the implications of my limited knowledge of Portuguese. Although I didn’t find too many people who spoke English, in general I was pretty able to communicate – it’s always easier to understand than to speak, and I had just enough of the basics to be able to say what I needed to (albeit in pretty broken Portuguese). When in doubt, we supplemented with Spanish. (This led us to some lessons about which words are NOT the same in the two languages.) I started to get a better grasp of the pronunciation (which is definitely the hardest thing for anyone who speaks Spanish, as there are some significant differences), and by the end of the trip the language sounded much less foreign to me – listening to the radio in the taxis seemed more natural, like listening to Spanish.
  • Cristo: So, I was raised Catholic and chose to be confirmed, but I haven’t been to mass since Easter of last year. I’ve become more than a little jaded with the insincerity and the politics of the Catholic Church, plus I find that mass just doesn’t allow me to practice my faith in a way that’s meaningful to me. That being said, I still have plenty of faith, and that’s probably why I loved Cristo so much. The statue was just so symbolic of my beliefs and experiences (and probably those of many people). My faith isn’t hugely Jesus-centric, but that didn’t matter. The physical presence of a higher power, even as a representation, was quite powerful. I loved knowing that no matter where we were in the city, we’d be able to see Cristo (from the right angle/without buildings blocking the view) and that He was there looking down on all of us. Even when we couldn’t see Him, we knew he was there. When we got through our unexpected favela adventure on Friday, I was convinced that it was because Cristo was taking care of us from up there on Corcovado! The Washington Monument just doesn’t do it for me.
  • I’ve never met people so friendly. Despite the language barrier (and there really were not many people who spoke English), everyone we met was more than willing to help us – even just looking confused at the bus stop prompted multiple people to try to explain to us what we needed to do! Ironically, the least friendly people we met were the front desk employees at the hostels.
  • I’ve also never met people so attractive. I said at the beginning of the trip that I thought Spain had the most attractive men, Venezuela had the most attractive women, and Italy had the most attractive general population. I think Brazil wins in all three of those categories, and part of what makes it so great is the diversity of the population. There’s been such a mingling of European, native, and African groups over the last century that there just isn’t a standard Brazilian look, and so many of the people in Rio were so tan that it was hard to tell where to draw the line between race and sun exposure!
  • Ipanema wins as my new favorite beach in the world. As I mentioned, my previous criteria for the best beach were a) clear water, b) sand, and c) waves. Although Ipanema lacks the clear water, it fulfills the other two and wins major bonus points for the eye candy provided by its beachgoers… plus none of the other beaches served coconuts.
  • I love the simplicity of Brazilian food. I told Stacey on the way back that I would like to try to maintain the simple diet we had in Brazil; something about the small set of staples and the simple yet robust flavors really appeals to me. We really just had the same food over and over: bread, cheese, ham, beef, açaí, beer, and caipirinhas. I did miss my vegetables (the first thing I ate when I got home was a bag of mixed frozen veggies), but other than that, I enjoyed our routine of grabbing some açaí and a sandwich roll in the late morning and then getting similar fare for dinner (once we realized the restaurants were expensive). I found myself thinking about all the extra things we put into food here and how unnecessary many of them are – like, why do I put sour cream and guacamole on my Chipotle burritos when the meat itself is so flavorful? Keeping things simple allows you to savor and appreciate each flavor; feijoada is probably the best example of that.
  • The Brazilians are just so relaxed. This comes through in a lot of ways; I think it’s particularly clear when you consider what people wear to the beach. You have to be relaxed (at least relative to American standards) to wear thongs on the beach like it’s not a big deal! And even in favela Rocinha, where the residents have more to worry about than they have food to eat, we seemed to pass only happy people going about their business who still had the friendly spirit to greet us with “bom dia!” as we passed. We in the United States seem stressed about everything; the chill attitudes of those in Brazil and many other countries I’ve visited never cease to amaze me and make me wish that our culture could relax a bit.  
  • I think part of the reason for my stronger connection to Brazil might be because of its location on this side of the world. What I mean is that when I think about other countries I love, like Italy, they always seem more distant because life there happens six hours ahead of life here. Rio’s only an hour ahead; there’s something about the fact that I can look outside at the moon right now and know that people in Rio are seeing the same thing at the same time that just makes me feel closer to things there.

There just isn’t any place like it. I started reading one of my books about Rio (Rio de Janeiro: A City on Fire by Ruy Castro) on the flight back and highlighted a few passages in the introduction that seem to provide the words I can’t find on my own:

“A riotous display of hills and mountain ranges, beaches, inlets, islands, dunes, sandbanks, mangrove swamps, lagoons and forests, all this under an endless blue sky…. the Marvelous City; the land of Carnaval; and always, even if on the quiet, a kind of sexual Mecca…. Coming in to Rio is so spectacular that throughout the centuries, for anyone arriving by plane or ship, it has set off… alterations in perception…”

And finally, I feel like no one says it better than James Taylor. I listened to “Only a Dream in Rio” over 20 times during the course of our 8 days there, and I think this YouTube picture montage coupled with the song expresses more than I ever could: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGpS6yyNKK0&feature=related

I’ll tell you

There’s more than a dream in Rio

I was there on the very day

And my heart came back alive

There was more

More than the singing voices

More than the upturned faces

And more than the shining eyes…

But it’s more than the shining eye

More than the steaming green

More than the hidden hills

More than the concrete Christ

More than a distant land

Over a shining sea

More like a hungry child

More like another time…

Eight days wasn’t nearly enough – I literally didn’t see half the things on my list. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it will be soon. I feel like part of me came home while I was there.

Brazil, Day 8: Feijoada, Santa Teresa, and Good-Bye to Cristo

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Our last day in Rio was just as packed as the rest. We got up at 10 to pack, store our bags, have one last açai, and get our last overdose of Vitamin D on the Copacabana beach.  We ended up walking back towards the beach in front of the Copacabana Palace; one thing we discovered was that 50 yards can make a great deal of difference in both the sexiness of the beachgoers and the cleanliness of the sand, and we wanted to make sure that we got the best of both. The sun seemed particularly hot yesterday, so I spent more time than usual in the water. The beach was packed; the Easter holiday apparently brings lots of people to Rio for the weekend. We met a guy from São Paulo who had spent some time in the States but had never before been to Rio even though it’s only 6 hours away. Given the big rivalry between the two cities, I was not surprised to hear him voice only modest approval of Rio! He seemed to think the cariocas less friendly than the paulistas… which is hard for me to believe. I’ve never met more friendly people anywhere!

After a quick shower on the sand (my last bathing before getting on the plane, wahoo!), we grabbed a cab and headed into the Santa Teresa neighborhood with two goals: explore the streets and eat feijoada.

Santa Teresa is near the Lapa district where we were the night before, and some have compared it to the Montmartre district in Paris. It reminded me and Mary of the small towns we’d visited in Spain – there were lots of beautiful older buildings, narrower streets, and unique shops, and it had a distinct neighborhood feel that made it in many ways the complete opposite of the beach areas. We had our taxi drop us off at a restaurant that had been recommended to us by the hotel, and we found that many others had come there for feijoada as well. Fortunately, several places down the block were also serving feijoada, so after a quick search we ended up sitting in a courtyard acting as a pop-up feijoada restaurant.

So, what is feijoada, and why were excited to eat it? Feijoada is Brazil’s national dish; some say that it’s derived from the slave trade because it’s made with cheap ingredients and fills you up, but that seems to be under some dispute. What people do agree on is that it’s delicious. It’s only served on weekends because it takes a long time to make and to digest, so it was the perfect thing for us to eat at 3:00 on Saturday afternoon.

We had an unexpected bonus experience while we waited for our food: April 22 (the previous day) is apparently Day of the Indians in Brazil and celebrates the heritage of its quite sizable native population, and I guess in recognition of that, three men in traditional tribal attire and paint came into the courtyard and performed two briefs songs/dances. It was very cool to see! We didn’t take any pictures out of respect to them, but you can probably picture what the equivalent would look like in the US.

Feijoada is described as a stew, but it’s served in a more deconstructed manner. We each received a plate with separate piles of white rice and farofa, and we got two bowls of meat and black beans for the table. Stacey’s book described feijoada meat as “well larded”, and that was totally true – I am not sure what pieces of beef we got, but they had plenty of fat! Feijoada also includes different kinds of sausage. It’s very heavy but so, so good! We were glad when the chef came out of the little garage that served as the kitchen to ask us how we’d liked it (we were once again the only tourists). We had a nice little conversation about politics (Obama and Lula), economics (Brazil’s kind of in the same situation as the US when it comes to how the recession has affected the general public), and Portuguese (he said that we spoke well).

Our waiter was very nice to us too; he introduced himself to us as we got up to leave and gave us each the traditional two kisses (one on either cheek) along with the reminder, “two kisses; no shame”, which we think pretty well sums up Rio. If I get to come back sometime soon I may come find this place again as both Paulo and the chef mentioned an interest in finding a language buddy.

We needed a walk after eating all of that food, so we strolled down the street and found a number of very cute shops that remind me of the ones in Carytown in Richmond. They had some great non-tacky souvenirs, but unfortunately at this point we were running low on our reais and generally had to say no.

We had just enough time to go into a few of those shops and admire the view of the bay (Santa Teresa is on a hill) before we had to find a cab to head back to the hotel, grab our stuff, and get to the airport. We each did a quick change in the hotel bathroom before piling into the cab with all of our stuff and silently processing the fact that we were leaving Rio. I focused most of my attention on Cristo as we drove; we went almost directly underneath him at one point, and that’s the last picture that shows up in the album I created on Facebook. It truly is a stunning statue at night; the lights don’t illuminate the mountain – it’s just Cristo up there, and I already miss seeing Him.

Getting to and through the airport wasn’t particularly difficult for me and Stacey, but Mary had started to feel sick in the cab and was not doing well when we arrived. Once through security, I went off in search of some medicine to dull the pain in her ear and some agua de coco to rehydrate her. There wasn’t much in our terminal other than duty free, and Mary really wasn’t feeling well, so she decided to go back through security to the main terminal in search of a doctor or a clinic. Stacey and I stocked up on cachaça at duty free and then kept glancing anxiously at our watches as more than an hour passed since Mary had left. Finally, she came back with a nice US Airways employee in tow, only to tell us that a doctor had told her she couldn’t get on the plane because her eardrum would burst! We felt awful leaving her, but there wasn’t much else we could do, and fortunately the airline was very helpful – they helped her get some antibiotics and got her into a hotel near the airport. She is hopefully back at the airport now as I’m writing this, waiting to get on the flight tonight! You just never know what can happen abroad…

Boarding the plane obviously made me very sad; even our walk down the jetway reinforced the charm of the country we were about to leave. The flight attendants were stopping people to see passports (again) and ask about our carry-on luggage. When Stacey and I said that we had bought some cachaça, the woman laughed and said “oooh, you’re going to make caipirinhas in the United States!” And speaking of caipirinhas, if you fly first class from Rio, you get them when you board the plane.

My last view of Rio was perfect. From my side of the plane, I could see Cristo lit up in the distance looking over the city. I truly haven’t been anywhere more beautiful.

Brazil, Day 7: Sugarloaf, ANOTHER favela experience, and Lapa street party

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We had designated Friday morning as the time to go to Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) after hearing that its views were best in the morning light, so that was our first order of business once we got up. After waiting more than 20 minutes at the bus stop and almost giving up on the bus, #511 finally arrived and took us (and the many other people packed on board) to the base of the Urca mountain (the smaller of the two in all the images of Sugarloaf). We were wholly unprepared for the line that we found there. I volunteered to scout ahead and figure out just how long it was; it may well be the longest line I’ve ever seen. It stretched about three city blocks and was sometimes as many as ten people wide. We debated for a few minutes about what to do… it seemed like waiting in line would cost us the whole rest of the day, but we also didn’t know if we’d be any better off trying to show up first thing on Saturday.

Fortunately, luck was on our side. Stacey and Mary went to do some scouting of their own and ended up meeting an Irish couple who were much further up in line. They invited us to join them in line, allowing us to cut over two hours of wait time! We soon found ourselves boarding the first of the cable cars and heading up to Urca.

The first thing we saw on that summit was the launching pad for the helicopter tours of the city. Every few minutes, a helicopter would take off for Cristo or other points around the city; we learned that the shortest journey offered – a total of ten minutes, just round-trip to Cristo, was about R$150; the most expensive was over R$1000! They seemed to have plenty of business despite the high prices.

We did a loop to take pictures from the various vantage points there; it was the opposite of our experience on Corcovado. Everything was completely visible and gorgeous. We could see many different beaches, each with its own distinct coloring, and mountains off in the distance that were half hidden by the haze and seemed not to be quite real. It’s no use trying to use words here; you’re just going to have to look at pictures.

After a quick bite to eat, we boarded the second cable car to the top of Sugarloaf. We took another round of even more spectacular photos before setting off in search of the monkeys advertised on the signs asking visitors not to feed the wildlife. We followed a set of short trails that led a through the foliage downhill and even made monkey-like sounds, but we didn’t find any… perhaps on my next trip!

After descending back to the ground level, we caught a more prompt bus back to Copacabana and grabbed about two hours on the beach. I finally joined Mary and Stacey in wearing a tanga; I was very glad to purchase a bikini with the same pattern as the famous Copacabana sidewalk, and I went into the water to put it on as soon as I had it! I must say I felt quite liberated. J

Back at Cabana Copa, we rinsed off, grabbed our stuff, and set off with mixed feelings for the hostel we had booked for our last night. Lonely Planet had recommended it, and we all thought it sounded like it would be an interesting experience. The hostel was located in another favela near the Santa Teresa neighborhood of the city; Lonely Planet described it as a guesthouse with lovely views from its porch. There weren’t too many options left in Rio by the time we realized we needed a place on Friday night, and we figured it couldn’t be that bad if Lonely Planet (a source I’ve always trusted) recommended it. Here is a description of the place on HostelWorld.com:

“The greatest view and the quietest environment you can imagine! The Hostel ‘Pousada Favelinha’ is located on a small mountain in the heart of Rio de Janeiro , between the district of Laranjeiras and the hip Santa Teresa. It is situated inside a small ‘Favela’, one of the many ‘poor’ districts that Rio has got. However, it is not ‘poor’ in cultural terms, and it is absolutely secure! You are only a five minute walk from either the metro station at ‘Largo do Machado’ which will take you to the Copacabana beach in only another 7 minutes, or from the ‘bondinho’, the old little cable car which runs through the beautiful artist´s district in Santa Teresa and right down to the center of Rio and the nightlife district ‘Lapa’.
Since there are no roads in front of our hostel, the only thing you will have to put up with is walking a small hill up (or down, wherever you come from) to reach home. This paths leads you through so many beautiful houses and trees, playing children, and old women chatting, that you would wish your stay was longer…”

Well, dear readers, let me tell you about our second adventure in a favela.

We got into a cab with a nice young driver who, together with Mary, the Lonely Planet book, and his GPS finally figured out where to take us and gamely did his best despite having no real idea where we were going. We stopped multiple times to ask for directions, and at once point we had to go in reverse about 200 yards down a very narrow street on a hill (we think we may have hit some things in the process). Finally, after about 40 minutes, we found the school that Lonely Planet had mentioned as the entrance to the hostel (something along the lines of “enter through the school” – nothing too detailed.) By this time it was dark, and although we weren’t in a favela at all like Rocinha (it was more like an older part of the city), we didn’t much like the idea of getting out of the cab and wandering around. Two men at the gate to the school pointed us in the general direction we needed to go, and we started off.

Now at this point, given the description Lonely Planet, we assumed the hostel would be just on the other side of the school or something simple like that. This was not the case. Instead, we went up and down some stairs and inclines for about 10 minutes before I popped into a little bar and asked for directions. The two men there looked flabbergasted to see me but seemed to know what I was asking for, so we set off again down another hill and bore left as they directed. Here we once again had to find someone to help us, and fortunately a young woman offered to lead us part of the rest of the way. It was at least 10 minutes before we finally found the building that multiple people seemed to think was the hostel.

Taking a deep breath (as by now we were completely out of breath from hiking around with our heavy backpacks), I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again, and then we started calling out. (We knew someone was in the building because we’d seen people on the back porch from a distance). Finally, a man opened the door a crack and looked at us with a somewhat bewildered yet sneaky look on his face. I explained that we were looking for the hostel, and he gave us no indication for a moment that we had in fact arrived at the place in question. Instead, he asked us to hold on and shut the door.

By this time, we’d pretty much decided we couldn’t stay here even if we did find it. We wanted to go to the famous Lapa street party that night, and there was no way in hell we could have left that place and returned later in the night. We also felt 100% sketched out. This did not improve when the man opened the door again and invited us in while communicating in broken English that since we had arrived after we’d said we would that he’d given our room away. (WTF?) It was clear that something nefarious was going on; this dude definitely struck me as being high out of his mind, and we think that him closing the door the first time was to stop whatever obvious drug use or exchanges had been going on in the living room prior to our arrival.

Fortunately, he was quite nice and called us a cab to take us back to town. He left us alone for about two minutes, during which we composed ourselves (thank God we’re each good at being calm in a crisis!), came up with a quick plan, and braced ourselves for going back the way we’d just come. By the grace of God (or in this case, Cristo), we managed to figure out our way back to the school, and the cab was waiting for us when we got there.

The above narration does not do this story justice AT ALL. This was one of many instances over the trip when I really just needed to have a video camera on. It’s impossible to communicate the extent to which this place sketched us out or how angry we were at Lonely Planet – we have NO IDEA how they could have thought to recommend this place and so grossly misrepresented its location. It says a lot that the people we met inside the favela were friendlier and more helpful than the people at the hostel! Here is what I found on a Lonely Planet forum just now about the same place:

“I am urgently compelled to make this post … due to my experience on my departure after an 11 night stay. After being awoken by the owner returning at 5am with a gang of friends and playing music at maximum volume (to the point of the walls vibrating) somebody burst into my room and switched on the light. Irritating to say the least at which point from my bed I yelled several expletives. That is all I did. A few hours later, I was about to check out and I wrote a note of complaint to the male receptionist who was a gentle and extremely helpful young guy called Jorge who had only been working there a short time. I owe this guy a lot. I explained what had happened and communicated my disappointment and requested that after an 11 night stay I was entitled to a discount at least for such a terrible night. Minutes later I was then met by the female part owner who was smashing my door with a 75cm wooden club in a rage of unparalleled intensity. On opening the door she wielded the club at me and screamed and yelled what I assume to be the filthiest words the Portuguese language has to offer. In the following moments I had the bat raised to my head, I was spat at and later pelted with rocks as I left the building. …. As a practising clinical psychologist, there is no doubt that this ‘woman’ would have been sedated or restrained in any other environment and is in dire need of immediate psychological assessment.  For this reason, I urge you to give serious thought to staying here. Had she indeed hit my skull with the bat I cannot imagine what would have happened. The fact that there is a pitbull on the premises that responds to her commands and the fact that the police will not enter the favela only compounds the danger here.
After travelling in over 50 countries in the past 15 years including all of S America, this is my worst experience.”

Anyway, we had the cab take us back to Cabana Copa, where we got on a computer and managed to find a room at a hotel a few blocks away. Because we’d technically booked a room for two, we had to devise a plan to sneak the third person in. Mary volunteered to go and find food for us while Stacey and I checked in. I must say, it was a relief to check into a legitimate hotel after the adventure of the past two hours, and we felt so reassured by the assistance of the bellhop in getting our bags upstairs. We turned on the tv, found that “Erin Brockovich” was playing, and chilled out for another few minutes before Stacey went down to get Mary.

I have to give Mary major props for the food she managed to acquire in 20 minutes: she came back with an entire pizza (Brazilian style has sausage and onion on it), a burger with fried egg on top, and a grilled banana and cheese sandwhich along with some beers. We had quite a little party in our room as we celebrated being alive, having all of our belongings, and having been able to work through the situation.

Somewhat later, after showering and resting a bit, we headed out for our last evening in Rio. Every Friday night, the Lapa neighborhood has a big street party. We didn’t know much about it other than that it existed, so we were curious to see what we’d find.

The street party isn’t quite like anything I’ve ever seen in the US. Lapa is the samba district, and several blocks were closed off to traffic. The streets were filled with stands selling beer, cocktails, and all sorts of food, and the various samba clubs and restaurants were all alive with people. There were hundreds of people there ranging from age 8 to age 88. Some were in casual attire; others were in costumes. It was crazy; it’s probably the closest thing to Carnaval that anyone can experience in Rio when it’s not that time of the year. We had a blast just strolling around taking in everything and everyone. We even encountered Michael Jackson and took a few pictures with him!

Most of the samba clubs sounded amazing but had pretty long lines, so we opted to sit outside at a bar and just watch people go by while we sipped caipirinhas. Again, this was a situation that called for a video camera; words just can’t explain. It was just too cool. We all agreed that it was a great way to spend our last night; we felt like true cariocas.

Brazil, Day 6

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It’s now Sunday evening, and this entry is supposed to be about Thursday… but my memory is kind of fading. I think it was generally a beach day for us – we didn’t get home from the awesome club experience until about 5, so we slept until 11 and weren’t really up and about until 12. We went to the beach in the afternoon and came back to join the rest of our roommates, a mix of guys from the US and the UK, in a group nap in the early evening before going out.

Two things to note about Thursday:

First, I think I mentioned in my pre-trip post that there is something in Brazil called Engov which will supposedly prevent a hangover. We all took some before going out the night before, but I still woke up with a little bit of a headache (not that I was drunk; it was more from lack of sleep and general dehydration). Anyway, I was not particularly impressed with the Engov, but we did get some of our trusty açaí smoothies, and I swear, my headache was gone five minutes later! Superfood to the rescue!

Second, Thursday was tanga (thong) day. Over 50% of the women on the beaches wore thongs, and we’d begun to consider it something of a diplomatic imperative for us to join them. (After all, when else would we have an opportunity to do that?) As we’d had no luck finding reasonably priced/well-fitting bikinis in Ipanema, we decided to shift our focus to the men selling them under umbrellas on the beach. We each found suits to our liking and felt quite liberated as a result!

In the evening we had another series of strikes when we tried to go out. First, we learned that banks turn off their ATMs at 10 pm, which is bad when it’s 11:00 and you need cash. Someone told us of a pharmacy on the other end of Copacabana that had an ATM, so we went there before going on a series of cab rides trying to find a place that was both open and not too posh… which took much longer than expected. We finally ended up at a cool funk club called Fosfobox. Funk/really loud music isn’t necessarily my thing, but it definitely seemed like a key experience to have in Rio. I was a bit disappointed that there wasn’t the same type of atmosphere in that club; the one the night before had very much been about dancing, while this one was about people just standing and listening to the music – no one tried to talk to us. We ended up leaving around 3.

Brazil Day 5: Copacabana, Cristo, and Clubes

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This was one of the best days we had in Rio.

Mary and I got up a little early and went for a run along the beach. The cariocas take fitness pretty seriously (after all, they’ve got to look good in those tiny bathing suits), so there were plenty of other people running or biking along the beach. The one surprising thing was that everyone seems to wear much more clothing while exercising – we just ran in shorts and a sports bra, but we saw most women wearing shirts and even leggings, and there weren’t too many shirtless men either. It’s always interesting when there’s a contrast between what people wear on the beach and what they wear around the beach. (In Spain, it’s standard procedure to topless at the beach, but if you walk home with just a towel around your waist rather than being completely covered up, you will get stares!)

We started at the beach; we were anxious to compare Copacabana to Ipanema. Both areas have been immortalized in familiar songs, but although they’re adjacent to each other, they have some significant differences. Ipanema is a little more upscale both in terms of the people on the beach and the area around the beach; all of the fancy shopping that we saw in Rio was in Ipanema. In constrast, Copacabana is more like the Virginia Beach of the Zona Sul – it’s got a lot of people and feels a little seedy at times because its business is pretty much just the beach. We didn’t see quite as many beautiful people or as many coconuts, but we weren’t disappointed – there were still plenty of toned, mostly naked people to admire and far more stands offering alcohol. Copacabana is known for its food stands along the boardwalk; there’s one about every 25 yards, and they are like mini restaurants despite their size; many have terraces for people to sit while they eat or drink.

We saw a few other interesting things as well. There was a light-up sign with recommendations for what SPF to wear depending on your skin tone – two groups got 15; two got 30. (Even with my darker complexion, I had to go with 30 – the sun is very, very strong down there.) We also enjoyed Copacabana’s way of dealing with the hot sand: hoses at various points along the beach stretched from the sidewalk across the sand and created a path of wet sand that wouldn’t burn your feet – ingenious! I must say I’m amazed I haven’t seen that anywhere else. The hose just had tiny holes in it so that there was a fine mist every few feet.

We discovered that the surf at Copacabana is not quite as rough, which was a nice change. The beach is on a different angle, so the waves aren’t as large (not that we didn’t still need to be cautious and time our entrance and exit carefully!). There were more families at Copacabana, and that’s probably due to the fact that the water was just less treacherous.

The weather forecast had promised a cloudless afternoon after 3:00, so we had made plans to go up the Corcovado mountain to see Cristo Redentor around that time. This required our first use of Rio’s very efficient public transportation system. A huge number of bus lines go through Copacabana; there are so many that there are three different sets of stops just so that there isn’t backup on the streets from all the buses stopping one place. We didn’t immediately figure this out; every bus stop has all the lines listed, but the lines are grouped together and matched to particular stops. The ever-friendly cariocas helped us to figure this out, and we were on bus #583 before too long.

About 40 minutes later, we reached the end of the line and got out at the base of Corcovado. Unfortunately, the clouds hadn’t yet dissipated (or in fact, hadn’t existed UNTIL the afternoon), so we weren’t sure if it was worth it to go up the mountain. Employees at the cog train station said they doubted we would be able to see anything, but we decided to give it a try. I was convinced that our buddy Cristo would reward our patience if we were just willing to stick things out!

The cog train took us up the mountain in about 30 minutes. We had a couple quick glimpses of the city below before we got above the clouds, but mostly we just passed through dense green foliage. Once at the top, we climbed a set of stairs and suddenly found ourselves about two stories below Cristo’s feet.

Cristo Redentor truly is a stunning sight, no matter what the weather – it’s no wonder that Cristo has become the symbol of Rio; I’ve been back in Washington, D.C. for nine hours now and already miss the presence of that statue.

As we anticipated, it was totally cloudy at the top of the mountain. We could see Cristo, but we wouldn’t have known there was anything below at all because the clouds were so dense. Nonetheless, we decided to wait. Mary and I plopped down on the ground along with some others and just stared at Cristo for a while. Occasionally, the wind would blow enough to clear a little space in the clouds above Cristo, and when that happened, people would start to cheer. You’ll see from my pictures that it really had quite a celestial effect!

Things finally started to clear up about an hour after we got up there. We stood at the railing looking down at the city for a while, and the clouds would disperse for maybe two minutes at a time before closing in again. Sometimes the clouds covered Cristo as well; I took video of Him disappearing at one point. (Who knew He’d be such a tease?!) Ultimately, we were able to get pictures of the city, though they weren’t quite as clear or panoramic as we’d hoped.

Wednesday evening, otherwise known as attempt #3 to experience Rio nightlife, started at a Tex-Mex place a few blocks away that supposedly had a good dance scene. We arrived to find no dancing going on, but we figured we might as well get a beer at and watch people pass by. Mary inquired about where we might be able to find some dancing and got the name of another club within walking distance. On the way there we stopped at what we think might be the Rio equivalent of Señor Frog’s; it’s called the Mud Bug and seems to cater to a 20-something crowd looking to drink and watch soccer. We ordered caipirinhas and watched a guy flirting (and ultimately making out) with a girl instead; Brazilians have got good game.

I was pretty sleepy at the Mud Bug, but when we got to the recommended club, I snapped back to attention. We entered to find great music playing and a band setting up to play live samba, and the cheap drinks we ordered proved to have about twice the necessary amount of alcohol for the price, so we were immediately well pleased. We were the only non-locals there, which was very exciting! We stood along the edge of the sunken dance floor for a little while like bait before some guys finally decided to approach us.

The first group of three guys seemed to have discussed beforehand something to the effect of “those girls are American; let’s divide and conquer!” They came over together and each talked to one of us. My guy was very nice and spoke a little bit of English, but it was easier to stick with the Portuguese. I didn’t understand all of what he said, and there were more than a few moments of me laughing and saying “não entendo!” (“I don’t understand!”), but we had a lot of fun.

Later on we bumped into a different group of guys; I had a much more amusing conversation with the friend I made from this group. He spoke no English, but I was able to understand his Portuguese better than the other guy’s, so we were able to communicate fairly well. He told me that I looked Brazilian but that my friends didn’t, although he added that the way I danced was more American. Apparently in Brazil, they tend to move more slowly to music, even if it’s faster. At the time he made that comment the DJ was playing Brazilian music, so I watched and imitated him; a few minutes later I got to turn the tables when the DJ switched over to some American music, at which point he watched and imitated me.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and before we knew it, it was 4:45 and time to go! The last song was, from what I could tell, the Brazilian equivalent of the Macarena, and after some sleuthing, I found it: A Liga da Justiça by Leve Noiz! I’m going to keep practicing. It was an epic evening!

Brazil, Day 4: Favela Rocinha

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Our experience on the favela tour blew my mind this morning. Warning: the following post contains information that is likely to make members of my family extremely uncomfortable; just keep in mind that I am alive and well. This experience was worth every ounce of risk, and the perspective I gained is something all of us privileged people should have.

“Favela” essentially means “slum”. Over 52 million Brazilians live in favelas; the 2002 Academy Award winner of best foreign film, “Cidade de Deus” (City of God) portrayed real events in an actual favela about 40 km outside Rio. Favelas are famous for their brightly colored buildings, horrible living conditions, and gang/drug violence. Many are controlled by drug lords; back in November, Rio’s police undertook a major cleaning up effort in a couple of favelas, resulting in the arrest of over 100 drug lords. Although the drug trade is inherently unstable and dangerous, it also can lend a sense of order and government; the drug lords understand that business is better when people aren’t afraid to leave their homes.

We joined a group of 15 others on a tour of favela Rocinha, located about 15 minutes northwest of Ipanema. It is one of the safer favelas, and the tour group, Be A Local, has run tours there for a while now. It’s a great organization that gives a significant portion of profits back to the favela.

Our guide, Patrick, gave us some instructions during the van ride to the favela that certainly reinforced the reality of what we were about to do. You might be wondering why anyone would want to tour a slum; the answer is that we (as all three of us did Teach For America) were looking for additional/different perspective on poverty, plus favelas have just become kind of synonymous with Rio (thanks in part to the movie). We were all aware of the enormous amount of poverty in Brazil and wanted the chance both to see it up close and to contribute in a very small way to community development through our tour fee and supporting the local artists who would be featured on the tour.

Anyway, Patrick told us that following his instructions would be very important in order to make sure we were all safe. This particularly applied to picture taking; certain areas are okay for pictures while others are not. The drug lords are generally very wary of photography because of the potential publication of images that might be incriminating, so we couldn’t take pictures in any open, public areas.

Traffic was unusually slow en route to Rocinha, and apparently this was because the police were doing a small raid. Patrick said they were looking for illegal cars and bikes, but regardless of how harmless those things sound, police presence was significantly higher, which just creates more tension. We saw a lot of police cars as we pulled up at the foot of the hill.

The biggest part of the adventure was right at the beginning. Since the tour route starts towards the top of the favela, we had to get up there, and there aren’t really any roads, so we couldn’t just drive up. Instead, we caught motorcycle rides with some of the locals who make money by shuttling people to the top… the favela equivalent of taxis. They were not in any way associated with the tour company, but they apparently do this every day with tourists.

After another round of instructions from Patrick (motorcycle safety tips and another reminder not to take pictures), we waited to get on our motorcycles. Mary hopped right on one, and Stacey and I waved good-bye more than a little nervously as she disappeared up the hill. We weren’t all going at once, and we didn’t know where we were going except up.

Stacey and I ended up being on the last wave to go up. I rode with Riccard, an attractive 30-year-old who pulled up, pointed to me as if to say “I’ll take her!”, and was nice enough to let me put my arms around his waist rather than holding onto the little handles behind my seat. He also told me to keep my limbs as close as possible, and I soon saw why: moments later, we were weaving our way through the traffic of cars, trucks, and motorcycles headed up the hill. It was a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. We passed police carrying machine guns and cars with men pointing machine guns out the window as they drove up, and we also hit a number of curves during which I grabbed Riccard very tight and prayed to Cristo not to let us wipe out on the road. Nonetheless, part of me actually felt very safe; Riccard just seemed to radiate a confidence and kindness that reassured me greatly. We talked as much as his attention on the road and my lack of Portuguese fluency allowed, but he told me that he loves the United States and has lived in Rocinha for 30 years.

Not more than 10 minutes after leaving the bottom of the favela, Stacey and I caught sight of our group, and the motorcycle ride was over. I wish I could have taken a picture with Riccard, but alas we were definitely in a no-picture area. I thanked him as profusely as I could and joined the group.

We set to walking single-file through the narrow “streets”; they are more like passageways between the jumble of buildings. Throughout the tour, we navigated around hanging wires, trash, feces, and running water. You will have to see pictures (when I get home) to fully appreciate what the favela was like; it’s very hard to describe the extent of the poverty we witnessed.

Despite the dirty and dismal surroundings, we encountered people who were quite friendly and seemed happy. Stop 1 was in an artist’s studio, where the three of us bought beautiful paintings and took our first pictures of the view, which was incredible. They may live in a slum, but the residents still have prime real estate with amazing views of the water. Speaking of real estate, we learned that the general idea of land ownership in Brazil is essentially that if you can build something, you own that space. In the favela, this means that people often just build on top of already existing buildings, which explains the very haphazard appearance of the favela. (Both here and in the ones I passed in Venezuela, I find it hard to believe that none of the buildings have ever just fallen over.)

We stopped next to watch some teenage boys play quite an impressive percussion arrangement on paintcans (I took video). After that, we bought very cheap bracelets made, very innovatively, from internet cables. We also visited a community center that provides child care – a key service in a community where families average six kids and teenage pregnancy is almost standard procedure. Because of the police activity, no one was at the child care center. (For the record, we were among at least three tour groups in Rocinha at that time, and the guides were constantly checking in with people as we moved to make sure we wouldn’t encounter any trouble.)

Finally, we descended to the main entrance where we’d started; our final walk was through a covered outdoor marketplace where once again the police were everywhere. By this time they seemed less menacing…

Mary, Stacey, and I are still processing the experience, and I/we plan on supplementing this post as we make an effort to write down everything we saw and heard. For now, what I can say is that I am now grateful in a whole new sense for what I’ve been lucky enough to have in my life; safety, housing, food, clothing, education, and disposable income are so easy to take for granted. The 400,000 residents of this one favela live 20 minutes from the high-class area of Ipanema, but their world couldn’t be more different.

Update:

The newspapers the morning after we were in the favela all had headlines about a major police operation, so turns out they were there for more than unregistered motorcycles. Here are some of the translations from the newspapers I bought:

Front page headline in O Dia: “Police now hunt wife of the ‘powder boss’ in Rocinha”

Sub-headline on front page: “The vanity of Danubia de Souza Rangel – wife of the trafficker Nem – will be used by police to catch her. A fugitive of justice, she posts pictures on the Internet of the life of luxury she leads in the favela, which yesterday was targeted by a police operation.”

Article headline: “Nem and Xerifa of Rocinha escape from police siege: Investigation that found a R$2 million laundering scheme culminated in the hunt for drug boss and his wife in the slum”

First paragraph: “The civil police descended yesterday morning launching a megaoperation with about 200 agents to arrest community leaders and relatives of the head of the drug trade in Rocinha, Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, or Nem.  All are suspected members of a money laundering scheme. An investigation discovered movements of more than R$2 million [~ US $1.3 million] in bank accounts.”

Front-page headline in O Globo: “Companies Launder Rocinha Money: Five small business in the Zona Sul  [the southern part of Rio where the beaches are] and Rocinha are under suspicion of laundering money for drug trafficking in the favela. In a local operation, the civil police seized three tons of marijuana and arrested 11 people, but the trafficking chief escaped again.”

Article headline: “Siege of ‘laundering’ of Rocinha: police operation against business that legalize the millions of profits from trafficking”

First paragraph: “Five legal small business in the Zona Sul and Rocinha are being investigated on suspicion of money laundering for the drug traffickers in the shantytown. To dismantle the gang, identified after seven months of investigations, operations opened yesterday in Rocinha, one of the last strongholds of trafficking in the Zona Sul. The goal was to meet 30 arrest warrants for people connected to the drug dealer Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, or Nem, but only two of the people searched were arrested. In the action, no weapons were seized, and Nem escaped once again. Despite the claims of the residents of Rocinha that on Monday night three police officers from Leblon went up to the slum to advise of the operation, the commanders of the police denied that there had been leaking of information. The police said they could not disclose the names of the companies so as not to prejudice the investigation.”

We heard something on the tour about leading information about whatever the operation was, so it’s interesting that that shows up in this article.

Wow…

Brazil: Day 3

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Yesterday was our designated beach day. (For the record, this has nothing to do with the weather forecast as every day we are here it is sunny and in the low 80’s.) We awoke to clear, blue skies, repeated our breakfast of the day before, took care of some business online, and headed down to the water.

What a change from the weekend! We had been wondering how many of the people on the beach were tourists vs. Rio residents; yesterday there was about a quarter of the number of people on the beach. This meant we had an unobstructed view of the water (win) but fewer beautiful people to admire (fail). We spread out a sheet and set to reading and tanning. (In an action that defines “oxymoron”, I read the Economist.)

Eventually, the hot sun drove each of us to the water. Let me take a moment to describe the water here. Although it’s not clear, it’s cleaner than anything I’ve seen in the US and has a lovely greenish-blue quality to it. The waves are HUGE. Yesterday we learned that swimming at Ipanema qualifies as an extreme sport. It is not for the faint of heart! Getting past the 6+ foot breakers takes a lot of daring and cunning. You run a very real risk of being clobbered and losing your bathing suit, and coming back in is even harder. I got hit very hard at one point, which resulted in me corkscrewing along the bottom and for the first time ever feeling slightly disoriented underwater as a result. I also think if you stay in too long that you’d get seasick from the height of the waves. Nonetheless, I have to wonder how to place Ipanema on my list of favorite beaches. Although it does not meet criteria #1 of clear water, it meets the next two (sand and waves). I think the size of the waves merits some bonus points, as do the coconuts to drink (check out my new profile pic on facebook), and the people here provide a stunning visual similar to beaches with clear water. I have to keep mulling this over.

We came back from the beach in the late afternoon. My back is burned, but the rest of me started on a nice tan. After showers and an application of aloe, we set off in search of Havaianas, Gilson Martin purses, and Brazilian bikinis.

The Havaianas store we found did not disappoint, and there is a larger one awaiting us in Copacabana. I was thrilled to find Croatia flip flops amidst the international selection and also bought a pair of the standard whites with the Brazilian flag.

Gilson Martin is a Rio purse brand, and the store completely overwhelmed us. Almost all of their accessories have images of Cristo Redentor and Sugarloaf Mountain on them, and they come in all sorts of colors and shapes. After agonizing for half an hour and making friends with both the staff and other clientele, Stacey and I each bought an incredible goldish-bronze purse with a Rio landscape on it that is worth every penny. I was equally thrilled to meet a Colombian woman while checking out; she told me that I spoke Spanish without an accent and had to ask where I was from! That’s pretty much the best linguistic compliment it’s possible to receive!

Speaking of linguistics, let me take a moment to say that I’ve never had such a good time attempting to speak a language in which I am not highly proficient. The Brazilians are very friendly and patient and seem to truly enjoy the fact that we make the effort. I managed to talk to a Gilson Martin employee about why she had a tattoo in English on her arm, another about the best type of Cachaca to buy, and a bikini saleswoman about whether Brazilians are more likely to learn English or Spanish as a second language (English).

We went into several bikini shops; Stacey and Mary tried on a few and learned just how itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny the suits are here. Mary bought a lovely one with crochet flower detail.

For dinner we visited a pay-by-the-kilo restaurant that provided a delicious buffet. I got to sample a number of veggie dishes along with steak, squid, salmon, and cod. Mmmmm!

We finally got back to the hostel around 9:30 and got ready for our first real attempt at clubbing. We headed to a place at the border between Ipanema and Copacabana, discovered we were too early at 11, and spent 90 minutes sipping beer at a stand overlooking the beach. Copacabana appears to have significantly smaller waves.

The club proved to be fun although not what we expected from our Lonely Planet guides. Stacey requested Lady Gaga and got “Born This Way” 40 minutes later; needless to say, it was awesome.

Brazil: Day 2 – continued

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Last night we decided to forego the funk party in the favela as it a) was expensive without including drinks, b) took place in a favela so far they couldn’t show us on the map, and c) would have required that we stay out until 5. We figured it would be better to save our energy for other evenings.

Instead, we headed off to dinner at an outdoor restaurant just down the block. Once again, we went for a tapas-style approach to the meal so we could share different things. No disappointments: in addition to caipirinhas, we enjoyed meat fritters, some salade nicoise, steak, grilled veggies, and sort of a farofa (the fried flour) covered scrambled egg. All was delicious; in Brazil, they keep flavors pretty simple. They just throw on some salt and grill the meat, so we really got to savor the flavor of the steak.

Our plan after dinner was to buy some beer and head to the beach, but the markets had closed by the time we finished dinner. However, as we headed towards the beach, we passed a samba bar that appeared to have a line outside the door, and we thought that might be fun to try later.

The beach proved to be a disappointment in terms of providing drinks; it was practically deserted (quite a change from the daytime). The large waves crashing in the moonlight along with the outline of the lights in the favela in the mountain to the west made for beautiful scenery, though.

We decided to head back to the hostel and get another drink there. At this point it was about 11:15. We arrived to find the downstairs full of people but the bar closed! We quickly formed a new plan: drop everything we didn’t need and head to the samba bar.

Fail #4 happened at the samba bar. They wouldn’t let us in because it was closing at midnight! Lesson learned: Rio does in fact have limits on drinking and fun. (I find it terribly ironic that the Green Leafe in Williamsburg stays open longer on Sunday than anything we experienced in Rio.)

Defeated, we returned to the hostel and settled in for the night. We now possess the three bottom bunks in our room, which makes things significantly more comfortable for us. The room is quite small; three sets of three-tiered bunk beds line the walls, leaving an open space in the center that’s maybe 5 x 9 feet. Controlling the floor helps!

Brazil: Day 2

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Boa noite!

We’re back at the hostel now after a pretty full day. We started with a breakfast of ham and cheese on rolls, watermelon, and cafe com leite, which we enjoyed while sitting in hammocks on the patio. After that, we packed up and set off for the Ipanema Hippie Fair.

The fair is a large market that happens every Sunday in the eastern part of Ipanema. Our hostel is technically in a western area of Ipanema called Leblon, so we had a nice long walk to get there. I’ve been trying to figure out if Rio reminds me of any other city, and after walking through more of it this morning, I have to say that I haven’t seen anything quite like it before. The streets are shaded by trees with hanging vines; the clean sidewalks are made with stones, meticulously placed to form designs. Building styles range from a few typical old hacienda-type facades to more modern, but all are lovely. Residential buildings have gates in front and tiny garages in which residents can park their cars.

As we walked, we played a game that may well result in its own album on Facebook: Hide and Seek with Cristo. The statue of Christ the Redeemer (whom I’ve fondly begun to refer to as Cristo, as if we’re friends) sits on a mountain due north of Ipanema, so when buildings don’t block the view, it’s visible from here. Between the buildings and the clouds (there aren’t many, but there seem to be enough up there to give it a sense of the celestial), we never know when we’ll spot Cristo next. We have pictures of Him now from various angles and with varying degrees of visibility. One particularly cool shot allowed us to see only the statue, not the mountain beneath, as if Cristo were just floating in the clouds.

Anyway, we finally arrived at the Hippie Fair and were quickly sucked in by the huge variety of quality goods for sale. We looked at lots of jewelry, clothing (including leather overalls), souvenir t-shirts, mini Cristos, purses, shoes, and other handicrafts. We got to practice our numbers by asking “quanto e?” at practically every stall. Two hours later, we left satisfied with our purchases and wishing we could come back again.

To mix things up, we walked back on the sort of boardwalk next to the beach. We bought some sarongs of the Brazilian flag (a key souvenir here) and continued to enjoy the views of the many attractive Brazilians. They play a type of volleyball here in which they don’t use their hands – it’s like hackey sack on a volleyball court. Food stands every few yards offer all sorts of tropical foods and beverages, and vendors also stroll the beach offering drinks, ice cream, leather bracelets, and bikinis. (The bikini vendors carry umbrellas from which the suits dangle.)

After getting hot in the sun, we crossed back over to a shadier street on the interior and searched for some bikini shops. We didn’t find more than one, but we did go into a mall that proved something we’d already been thinking: cariocas (residents of Rio) are very stylish. The stores were all too expensive, but if I were rich, I’d totally buy all my clothes there. We are surprised that we haven’t heard more about Brazil as a fashion-forward place.

Finally back in Leblon, we changed into bathing suits, picked up some smoothies (this time I got acai with banana, which was very good) and headed down to the beach. By this time it was about 4:00, so we didn’t have a lot of sun left. (Taller buildings are partly to blame for that, but the sun also sets earlier here. I finally figured out this afternoon that that’s because we’re in the southern hemisphere, where it’s fall, so the days are getting shorter.)

The waves here are HUGE. At least 6 feet. They break beautifully and are great to watch; they also make for an exciting time in the water. We haven’t done much yet other than get hit by the breakers, but tomorrow we are going to spend more of the day at the beach.

That’s all for now – time for dinner and caipirinhas. 🙂

Brazil: Day 1

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Good morning from Rio de Janeiro, “a cidade maravilhosa”, the marvelous city! From what I’ve seen, this is an apt description.

My post will be brief as I am in fact typing this on my iPhone. Oh, technology!

Mary, Stacey, and I arrived in Rio with no problems. Mary even sat with someone from Brazil on our first flight and learned some good phrases and important words like “chope”, a small, ice-cold draft beer. I used my new Cabin Pillow, a large inflatable pillow designed to sit on the tray table and help you sleep bent over. I think I slept more on our 9-hour flight than I have before, so it was a success!

Upon clearing customs, we exited into an airport not unlike the one in Caracas, where many solicitous men offered taxi services both in and outside the terminal. We spoke with a helpful woman at the info desk to find out where to catch a bus into the city, and she complimented us on our Portuguese!

After an hour’s wait (as the first bus was full), we boarded a very nice bus with air-con (no one says air conditioning here) and enjoyed a trip through Rio to Ipanema. The airport is at the northeast corner of the peninsula, and Ipanema is down in the southwest, so we got to see quite a lot. We were thrilled to catch many glimpses of Cristo Redentor, high atop Corcovado, with His arms stretched out as if to welcome and/or hug us.

After checking in at our hostel (located a convenient one block from the beach), we cleaned up, donned bathing suits, and set out for sustenance. We checked off two things from our list of foods to eat in Brazil: smoothies and acai. I got a smoothie with acai and strawberry that was delicious.

We spent the next two hours on the beach, surrounded by beautiful, tan people clad in thong bikinis and boxer briefs drinking straight from coconuts. It’s the stuff of dreams, but here it is real! We plan to drink from coconuts today.

After the beach and showers, we headed to a grocery store. I love going to grocery stores abroad; you learn so much and see such interesting things! We saw fruits that were completely unfamiliar, juices that don’t exist in the US, and dried cod, among other things.

From there we returned to our hostel for the final 20 minutes of the Real Madrid/Barcelona match and our free welcome caipirinhas. Oh, my. New favorite drink. So good and so strong.

For dinner we ventured a little further to a place called Jobi that one of my guidebooks recommended. We enjoyed some beer and a host of fried but very Brazilian appetizers: cheese balls, cod fritters, yuca fries, and fried manioc flour with ham and egg. It was all delicious!

Our final stop was at the Academia de Cachaca, where we sampled caipirinhas flavored with passionfruit, pineapple, and something unidentifiable but tasty.

I love it here!!!