South America (Brazil) - Day 5: Rio - Football at the Maracanã

The next morning wasn't great. Nor was the early part of the afternoon. We both had wicked hangovers which only a visit to the nearby Al Capone Pizzeria could sort out. They have an odd way of cooking pizza in Brazil, since they don't appear to use a tomato base. What we got was basically two garlic pizza breads with the toppings we'd picked, but they were tasty and we were in desperate need, so it was a win all around.

Amit had kindly trundled off to the Maracanã stadium a day or two earlier to pick us all up some tickets to an exhibition game between the mighty Flamengo (Clube de Regatas do Flamengo, for its full title) and the visiting Orlando City. It was a fixture destined for the history books, we were sure. There was no doubt that the Brazilians with their flair, skill and attacking prowess would utterly dismantle the visiting Americans, and we'd be treated to a goalfest unlike anything anyone had ever seen, in the stadium of dreams. We were all pretty excited.







Well, that was the hope. What instead occurred was a match so dull that the locals should have been embarrassed to be on the pitch. The sky was as grey as the game, and it was no surprise when rain set in. It took eighteen and a half minutes before there was even a shot on target by Flamengo, and then there was nearly a huge upset when an Orlando player was brought down in the box. The resulting penalty could have really riled up the already excited crowd, but the heroics of César somehow denied the visitors.









Flamengo's goalkeeper was the only Brazilian really putting the effort in, it seemed. Yet somehow, in some way, Luiz Antonio managed to sneak in a goal on the 75th minute which essentially ended the game. The visitors gave up, the Brazilians sat back, and the lively crowd who were far, far more energetic and supportive than Flamengo deserved, cheered appreciatively before leaving 5 minutes prior to the final whistle. Even Milt fell asleep. To say the game was a let down was an understatement, but given the way Brazil crashed and burned in the last world cup, perhaps the confidence of the entire country's teams has been rocked. Or maybe they thought that since it was an exhibition match, it didn't really matter. Still, I enjoyed my cookies and cream Magnum at half time, so it wasn't all disappointment.



We trundled back to the hostel, picked up our laundry, then set off to find some food which came in the form of Restaurant Braseiro. It was a popular place with the locals, and we pulled up a stool and shared a plate of Argentinian-style filet mignon (which seems to be commonplace over here), rice, chips and manioc flour mixed with...something. Manioc flour is ground cassava, and is very interesting. Brazilians like putting it on everything, and it certainly adds texture if nothing else! There was far more food than we could possibly eat, so we got the rest boxed up and gave it to a homeless person around the corner on the way home. In a moment of madness and with very little research, we had booked a four night stay in Ilha Grande the day before, leaving tomorrow. This was our last night in Rio, so we got packed up for island life and hoped for a smooth transfer without any hitches at all. This, of course, was not to be...

South America (Brazil) - Day 4: Favelas, Sugar Loaf Mountain and a night out in Lapa

The English translation of favela is “slum”; 20% of the Brazilian populace live in them and there around 1,000 in the country. They are often portrayed in the media as drug-riddled no-go zones controlled by gangs, where tourists are robbed (or worse) if they step foot in them. The reality is a lot more complex as we found out when we joined a favela tour the next morning. Aiming to dispel some of the myths surrounding Brazil’s poorest areas, our guide Marina took us to Rocinha, Brazil’s largest favela with a population of over 80,000 people. Favelas grow organically – from shacks made of bits of wood and sheet metal up to fully constructed buildings; because the law states that if you occupy public land for 5 year it’s yours, and because the government want little to do with the favelas, they’ve grown largely unchecked. It also helps that a lot of the residents of favelas have come from the construction industry so are well-versed in throwing up buildings with a modicum of structural integrity. Apartments appear overnight next to each other – it’s a regular occurrence to be able to look out of a window over the bay one day, and the next to be faced with a brick wall where a new neighbour has taken it upon themselves to erect a new property.

Only in the last decade or so have the police begun to take the drug crime seriously and actually do something about it. A process of “pacification” has taken place in 39 favelas so far where, after a lengthy observational period (often a year or more) tracking the movements of the drug gangs and understanding the layout of the favelas - which have no street names in most cases - a co-ordinated effort of thousands of police descend on the favelas and wrest control back.  Most of the populace don’t want drugs in their neighbourhoods anyway, so pacified favelas are much happier places. As Marina told us, there’s a difference between poverty and misery, and whilst life is often tough, many of the residents won’t go elsewhere. They are self-governed communities, most with family and friends who have lived there for some time, they police themselves, and they are incredibly entrepreneurial. Favelas don’t pay taxes, and we visited one building where the owner had built floor upon floor of apartments and was renting them out at 700 reais (~£130) per apartment, and bringing in around 30,000 reais (~£5,500!) of income per month. Indeed, a kind of middle class has emerged within the favelas. Most of them have water (the blue tanks you can see on the top of each building) and electricity, although the electrics are essentially an incomprehensible mass of wires so tangled that only the bravest repair person would dare go near them. The minimum wage is the equivalent of about £150 per month, which is one factor in why drug crime managed to become so rife – children under the age of 18 cannot be sent to jail, and once they reach 18 their records are wiped clean. They can live a life with impunity, making them the perfect vehicle for transporting drugs around. The government is being lobbied to change the law, but it’s a slow process.

Rocinha was pacified in November 2011 and it’s safe to walk around. Safe, but not easy – there’s one main road winding its way through the favela because it was built on the side of an old Formula 1 track. Other than that, the only way around is through a labyrinth of alleys separating the thousands of buildings. I don’t have the best sense of direction (or any, in fact) as anyone who has watched me trying to drive somewhere without a sat nav can attest. Or even with one. So without a guide, it would be insanely easy to get lost. The residents are incredibly resourceful and artists have used things like discarded magazines and even old records to fashion colourful artwork to sell. Little goes to waste here.

The second favela we visited was Vila Canoas, a much smaller dwelling with around 3,000 residents. Many favelas border rich neighbourhoods, and this is no exception – the start of the favela on one side faced a row of Brazilian mansions on the other. Favela residents often work for the wealthier populace, so proximity to their workplace is important. Marina took us to a school set up by the owner of the Fiat car company, who wanted to give something back to the community. Para Ti has classes for favela children (private schools for the rich kids – such as a nearby American school which charges $6,000 entry and a further $2,000 per month – are clearly beyond the price range of the locals), and they are available every day. There’s a playroom and even yoga classes; a lot of kids have rough upbringings which then spills over into aggression at school, so yoga helps dissipate this. It’s a great idea – I wonder if it’d ever catch on in the UK. Whilst we were looking around the school, we got the chance to try a homemade brigadeiro (chocolate truffle) and it was divine.

I left the favelas feeling a little more optimistic. A lack of money doesn’t mean a lack of pride, and it’s clear that the people here are hard-working and resourceful. Their portrayal by the media has resulted in a stigma which is undeserved in most cases. The favelas aren’t going anywhere – there are too many people for that – but with the government now agreeing to hand out deeds for the land which the residents have built on, they may finally start getting acknowledged as a part of normal society, and in time, perhaps even absorbed into the wider Brazilian populace….assuming they decide they want to be.

We went for lunch in Cardamomo – a por quilo (per kilo) buffet restaurant that charges you a set amount per 100g on your plate. They are stonkingly good value, and we loaded up our plates for less than three quid each to see us through the afternoon. Back at the hostel I almost had a breakdown when, after Windows decided to helpfully dump a load of updates onto my laptop, it then failed to start up again. It was completely dead. No lights, no power, nothing. Kaput. Four days into a seven-month trip, brilliant. Thinking it may just be a case of overheating and putting it out of my mind as best I could, we took a taxi to Pão de Açúcar – Sugar Loaf Mountain. What should have been a fifteen minute drive from the hostel turned into almost half an hour, as the main road along Copacabana beach was diverted for reasons unknown, causing massive tailbacks and adding more stress to our current mood. We finally pulled up outside and bought our tickets for the cable car rides up which were valid at any point during the day, so we visited the beach next to the entrance – Praia Vermelha. It was a lovely afternoon and great for paddling, until the tide takes you unaware as Gilly found out…

Sugar Loaf is comprised of two viewpoints reached by two separate cable cars – the lower one offers a good view on most days, but the higher one is completely dependent on the weather. Amit had been a couple of days earlier and said he could barely see a thing from the top due to cloud cover. We managed to get lucky – not only with the weather, but also the timing; we arrived about an hour or so before sunset, which meant that we got to appreciate the view of Cristo Redentor bathed in wondrous colours as the light faded, before appreciating Rio lighting up at night. I could have filled an entire blog of photos from our trip up there but decided to pick a few (OK, maybe more than a few) of my favourites to highlight the beauty of the place.

We somehow managed to find a bus back to Copacabana after almost giving up searching for the bus stop. Our run of luck continued when we got back and I decided to take the advice of a website I’d found and held down the laptop’s power button for 30 seconds. I was rewarded with the power coming back on – all was well again! Well, once Windows had sorted out the updates which had knocked it out in the first place. Thanks, Microsoft.

The night was still young, and it was a Saturday, so we decided to make the most of Rio’s nightlife and headed to Lapa. This is the party area from Thursday to Saturday, and the bars are swarming with locals and tourists alike. Getting off the metro station at Cinelandia and walking the half-kilometre there can feel a little intimidating, as there are no shops open and a lot of shady locals wandering around so going on your own may feel a little risky, but we didn't have any issues. We immediately set about finding food and beer, both of which were offered in abundance by the identikit stalls that are set up by the arches. If you ever wanted to find a burger, caipirinha or chicken on a stick, then this is the place to come – there are at least fifty stalls. Gilly went for the chicken, I went for a burger, and Amit went for a stick and a hot dog. In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to do the same to soak up the forthcoming alcohol, but you live and learn. After a couple of Antarctica beers each, we took the advice of a hostel rep and sought out Bar da Cachaça where we had a shot of the eponymous spirit each - passion fruit for Gilly, açai for me, and chocolate with pepper for Amit. They were all pretty strong, and all delicious. A couple of craft beers (or what passes for craft beer in Brazil - it ain't Brewdog!) in another bar were followed by caipirinhas and shameless self promotion in Boteco da Garrafa, which in turn were followed by some sort of cocktails whose names escape me, in a bar whose name escapes me, which in turn were followed by some crazy dancing in a club which I have little recollection of entering. Nor, in fact, that of the taxi we took home at some crazy time in the morning.















My phone photos recall the later stages of the evening better than I do, but suffice to say it was a fantastic night, and Lapa is definitely a must-do for anyone looking to experience some of Rio's crazy nightlife. 

South America (Brazil) - Day 3: Cristo Redentor and a reunion

Cristo Redentor gazes out over the city from the Corcovado mountain, arms outstretched like a guy about to do a really awesome bungee jump. We took a bus with Amit to the base and then jumped on a cog train to the top - but not before Gilly had a practice on a spare carriage (there isn't a bell, but don't tell her that!).



It's considered to be one of the modern seven wonders of the world, but in truth it feels a little exploitative; just another backdrop for the craze of selfie sticks, whilst hawkers flog cheap metal crosses at the door to its base. Perhaps Cristo Redentor would have held more significance if I was a religious man, but it's hard to get super excited when you're being jostled by umpteen people performing the same pose in front of it. I'd go as far to say the views over Rio are definitely worth the price of admission, and the statue is a bonus - but I'm probably in the minority. Still, we got incredibly lucky with the weather since it was threatening clouds for most of the day. We managed to catch a few decent periods where the visibility was great and it really shows. Gilly was given a request to tickle Jesus's armpits (well, it beats the standard pose), and we also brought along our new friend Milt who had been knitted by Gilly's mum, and who will be accompanying us on many of our adventures around the continent. He managed the pose pretty well, I thought.

Behold the man!

Largo do Boticário is just up the road from the entrance to Cristo Redentor, and is a pretty little square hosting an old colonial house. We almost didn't get there - we followed the guidebook to get there which told us to go uphill, but this ended up taking us into what looked like a pretty dodgy area so we turned around sharpish and found the actual road. It seems like our Rough Guide got out of date pretty quickly.



After getting back to the hostel and cleaned up, we went onto the Copacabana beach front to meet Stu, an old workmate who had somehow landed a gig where he got to stay at the Marriott for seven months. It was great to catch up. After a beer in the lobby, he suggested going to an all-you-can-eat meat buffet place called Fogo de Chao. This was a seriously upmarket joint - not somewhere that would have ever been on our radar on our travel budget, but Stu kindly offered to foot the bill (thanks, Stu!) and we took a taxi over to Botafego.

The restaurant gives you a card on the table - one side is red, the other is green. When you turn it to green, you are immediately set upon by waiters thrusting various meats at you on skewers. Shoulder of lamb, filet mignon, spicy sausages, chicken...it's almost unstoppable, and if you manage thirty seconds before some other choice cut is thrust in your face, you're doing well. The problem is, it's all really good. There's a salad bar for people who like that kind of thing too, but even if you turn your card over to red, the people proffering meat are replaced by other waiters offering side dishes - rice, potato wedges, and more other variations on carbs than you can count. After an hour and a half we were all ready to explode.





We waddled out to the balcony for a cigar and to take in the view, before heading back to the Marriott to make the most of Stu's daily alcohol allowance via the medium of wine. Suffice to say that the night was splendid, and seeing a familiar face halfway across the world never gets old.