Rio De Janeiro

Waaaay back in December when I was planning my round the world ticket, I agreed to an overnight stopover in Santiago when flying from Lima to Rio de Janeiro. This decision was based on my assumption that the OneWorld lounge would be open so I could wallow peacefully in a baby fur seal recliner while having my exorbitant whimsies of the flesh and mind tended to by fourteen LAN hostesses.

Instead, I was forced to spend the night in squalor with the less frequent flyers: buying a Dunkin Donut for 1,361,894,157,951,369,875,156,972,101,099.99 Chilean Pesos and trying to sleep on a hard bench that, rather interestingly, had the same resonant frequency as Shakira's voice (and hips, I suppose); while Latino pop music videos assaulted my senses all night. Choler is a terrible bedfellow.

Despite the shite overnight respite, I was quite happy to land in Rio, as my little sister Claire (flying from Straya) was coming to meet me at Mellow Yellow hostel (which is considerably less mellow, though more yellow than its potable namesake) in Copacabana. Unfortunately she had been delayed for about 1 year so Aerolineas Argentinas could properly lose her luggage; so the next day I met her out at the airport and took her shopping for a replacement bikini (and came back with two rubber bands).

Copacabana isn't quite as beautiful and relaxing as I had imagined: the cafe culture is quite different to Perth's, for example, as most drinking is performed on the beach with the aid of quite handy but annoying vendors that pace the beach yelling the same three words "Corka... Shkooorl.... Agua..." (that'd be Coke, water flavoured beer and beer flavoured water). Not bad, except it's impossible to doze on the sand with a) their incessant trudging 2 inches from your noggin b) blokes standing 5 metres in front of you, facing you, in tight budgy smugglers, sunning themselves. I was just too aroused.

On the plus side for Copacabana are two things:

1. Mellow Yellow is a great hostel, they have a good bar and the breakfast of pineapple, ham and cheese toasties is kick-bum; though I'm concerned their 24-bed dorm room is a Matrix-like construct designed to harvest heat (or maybe bed bugs) from the interned backpackers (even though they aren't encased in red goo).
2. Churrascaria Palace - an all you can eat restaurant where the dining experience is akin to sitting next to one of those kebab shop rotating meat logs while it's continually carved onto your plate; also the desert menu is a tray of plastic replicas that you can fondle (if you really want to)... AND (oh, that's a big "and") they have a "piano surcharge".

On the down side for Copacabana, Ipanema's better and next to it. Claire and I had a marvellous time on the beach there, which is much nicer (cleaner sand and water); the restaurants are also quite a bit less tawdry (sorry Bob's Burgers). One night we dined in the cafe where (legend has it) "The Girl from Ipanema" was penned (and most probably fed, though they don't advertise that). We had Moqueca, which is a particularly bland local stew, no doubt serving as inspiration for the aforementioned song. Ipanema also has a good market for the girls (jewellery) and legs (pants), though make sure you take enough money with you, otherwise you have to eat quiche for dinner. Claire.

A better market (in my eyes, though my capoeira pants from Ipanema are magnificent), is in Uruguaiana (previously shortened from Uruguaiuaiuaiaiuiauaiuaiauaiauana), where there is a thriving second hand vintage electronic game console market. Unfortunately my cash reserves weren't enough for one of the pristine Game Boys (Games Boy?), as I'd already purchased a rip-off Casio watch and 2GB memory stick pro-duo (for about $50AU!), but imagine: portable gaming in 56 colours!!

Apart from visiting the obligatory Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf (pointy hill), Claire and I also went on a tour of the largest favela (shanty town/slum) in Rio de Janeiro: Rocinha, which was awesome. The taxi motorbike ride to the top was a particularly good start; even though my biker absolutely hammered up the hairpins, I didn't have the temptation to disregard our guide's instructions for the guys not to cuddle the rider. Our lack of bonding on the short journey may have been because I was unsure of his connection to the drugs mob ADA (Amigos dos Amigos), which (as explained to us) is apparently providing all the law enforcement, healthcare and schooling for the residents of Rocinha. They also carry fucking big guns.

So I'd heard all the stories about dodgy cops and robbers in Rio, with all the pickpockets, drug setups and muggings; I have to say I saw absolutely none of that during my time there. Maybe I was just one of the lucky ones, or maybe it was the piece of toilet paper stuck on my shoe that said "don't fuck with me", but I didn't feel particularly unsafe during my time there. Even the favela tour wasn't particularly dodgy - though I wouldn't try going there without a guide.

So with the touring side out of the way, I can say a little about the nightlife. The rich pickings seem to be in Lapa, where we went for a Friday night street party (cheap streetside Tequila shots, followed by free Tequila shots, fortunately not followed by the guy who Claire nicked the Tequila bottle from). I visited a couple of other bars and clubs around Copacabana and Ipanema, though, to be honest they didn't do too much for me; and I was particularly scared of the enforced bar tab system at a few of these establishments: damn tricky when you are battling with unfamiliar bar prices and drunken currency conversions.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about Rio nightlife for me was noticing that Brasilian men have pulled off the biggest scam in the history of cross-cultural courting: convincing women across the world that they are good dancers. My observations of the Justin Timberlake impersonator in Lapa and the dancing competition at the Favela Funk Party (female stripper moves, but with guys; followed by some strange butt-hopping maneuver) didn't do much for their reputation in my eyes. Of course, I'm not saying that I'm an excellent dancer, I'll let you arrive at that conclusion independently.