Although my Road to Rio wasn’t as much fun as Bob Hope and Bing Crosby’s, I got there anyway, at the end of a long three-and-a-half months of travel. It was a fitting capstone to my Latin American odyssey. Why? Because of all South American destinations, Rio de Janeiro was the most famous. It had figured in movies (Notorious) and song (“The Girl from Ipanema”). It had always seemed like a special place, one I had wanted to visit.
So, there I was, settled into the Mercure Boutique hotel on the busy Avenida Atlantica across from the Copacabana beaches. For my first meal, I sat on the hotel terrace, watching the passers by as I ate breaded shrimp dipped in a tasty sauce while drinking glasses of Malbec. It was a pleasant evening.
On my first full day, I had practical matters to accomplish. One of these that I had faced throughout my entire journey, was booking my next leg of travel. In Rio I thought I could simply fly home directly via Turkish Air and was surprised when Kay told me I couldn’t. I would have to fly from São Paulo, so I spent much of my afternoon working with the guys at reception to arrange a flight to a city I had no desire to visit.
I’d been reading about Rio in my travel guide and learned that the city is quite complicated. If I hadn’t been so tired and anxious to get home, I would have wanted to spend more time to learn more about it first-hand. Instead, I booked an all-day tour of the city’s highlights for the following day.
I met my guide, a woman named Roberta, at 10 o’clock in the hotel lobby. She had a nice sedan with a driver, and off we went.
Our first stop was the mountain named Corcovado (Hunchback) whose top contains the iconic statue of Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer). We drove up to a point where we left the car with the driver and climbed into large van with others to go the rest of the way up the mountain by switch backs.
Near the top we took escalators up the final stretch.
I finally had my first look at the statue whose height, including its pedestal is thirty-eight meters. It was first proposed in the 19th century by a French priest who had dreamed it. However, it was not begun until 1926 and finished in 1931. Heitor da Silva Costa was its architect. The body and arms are made of concrete and covered with soapstone tiles. Its head and hands were fabricated in France. Getting the materials up the mountain must have been an ordeal. The viewing areas beneath the statue are not large and they were very crowded, even out of season. In summer, the waits must be horrendous. Like everyone else I busied myself taking photos. The views of the city beneath the mountain were wonderful, even though the sunny weather was very hazy.
From Cocovado we went to the Escaderia Salarón (Salaron Steps). The 215 steps up the side of another hill are colorfully tiled, as are the walls in either side of them. The single artist who created this unique attraction was from Chile and named Jorge Salarón (1947-2013). He requested that people send him tiles from all over the world, so his work has an international flavor.
It was fascinating to look at some of the individual tiles.
Salaron’s favorite color was red that predominated on the side walls. Of course, as one of the city’s important tourist sights, it was crowded.
Driving to our next destination, we passed through the districts of Santa Teresa and Lapa, the “epicenter of Rio’s nightlife with dozens of Samba-filled bars and clubs.” The districts were quiet during the late morning. Roberta told me that the city wants to preserve them and thus won’t allow their buildings to be replaced by new ones or their facades to be altered but only restored. Santa Teresa was once a high-end district with some grand homes that Roberta referred to as castles.
A historic tram runs through the neighborhood.
At one point we stopped near an old tram station that had a lot of wall art,
including a caricature of a deceased poet/musician named Noel Rosa.
Until I saw it, I wondered why the city’s cathedral was touted as a must-see destination. Its construction began in 1979, the year Kay and I were married. Inspired by the pyramids of Mexico, it is cone-shaped and very large with room inside for 20,000 people, 5,000 of whom could be seated.
Three of its walls contain tall, stained glass depicting images that were not terribly clear. Saint Sebastian is Rio’s patron saint, and the cathedral bears his name.
The last site on the tour was a trip to the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, so called because its tall, rounded shape recalls how sugar was once formed into cone-shaped forms within special containers.
To get to the top of the mountain, we first took a téléferique to the top of an adjacent mountain from where a second téléferique made the final assent. Those cable cars had operated for decades.
On top of the first mountain, I saw one of the originals preserved as a museum piece. It was made of wood and had open windows. The current cars are large enough to accommodate seventy persons and have great views all around.
In our first car, we were accompanied by at least twenty little boys and girls who couldn’t have been more than five-years-old. Their minders had them clutching central poles for safety.
On top of Sugarloaf, the views were magnificent in every direction. As Roberta pointed out the city’s different districts, I looked down at the Copacabana beach where my hotel was located.
A shop claiming to make the best hot dogs in the city caught my eye. To Roberta, I explained that I was a connoisseur of hot dogs and needed to taste one. I ordered a basic dog with ketchup and mustard and was delighted with the result. It was a Vienna frank with a soft bun, tasting very much like a Chicago Red Hot but without the celery salt and the other trimmings. Roberta didn’t join me. She is slightly built and incredibly thin. I got the sense that she ate very little.
Before wrapping up this account of my visit, I must write a few words about Rio’s beaches, which are wide and long with a wonderful quality of sand that must make them some of the best in the world. Of course, as the most popular recreation in the city, they were sometimes crowded. As I walked on Copacabana, I saw a variety of families and others engaged in the usual beach activities.
Fronting the beach was a wide attractive esplanade where people were walking, jogging, and cycling. On the first day of May, I found a delightful place to eat right next to the beach. While I ate my lunch and drank my Corona beer, I watched a volleyball game in progress played by two mixed couples. What was unusual was that their hands and arms were not used, only legs, chests, and heads. It resembled soccer but with a volley-ball net. I was surprised how well they played this variation. Rio’s beaches continued to amaze me with their extent and activities.
The many locals who use them are deeply tanned.
My return home to Istanbul was a bit of an ordeal. The only domestic flight to São Paulo I could take left early, whereas my Turkish Air flight to Istanbul left late in the evening. Thus, I was stuck for hours at São Paulo’s Guarulhos Airport. I sat next to an Indian man from Deli, who would be on the same flight as mine. We watched each others’ belongings while we took toilet breaks. When it was time to check in, we both went to Turkish Air where he stood in a long line while, because of my age, I was relegated to a shorter one. I still waited too long while, for some reason, some travelers took a long time to check in. My turn took less than five minutes.
Finally, I was on the plane but in an unfortunate seat on a forward bulkhead, looking into the galley and by the door to a toilet that was handy when I needed it but attracted a lot of traffic. Next to me sat a middle-aged couple whose language I couldn’t place. The woman in the middle seat kept encroaching on my space until I had to speak to her about it.
During the entire Latin American voyage, I believe I took twenty-one flights. They involved a lot of airport waiting time, and I am so happy to be a reader. For me, reading has always been the ultimate escape from boredom. I read more than twenty books during the nearly four months on the road. During that last leg, I read a John Grisham novel that was delightful.
Kay met me at Istanbul’s large airport in the early evening of Friday, May 3rd. Reunited, we taxied home to Moda. I was so happy to finally be home.