It's not the biggest city in Brazil, neither is it the capitol. But Rio de Janeiro is undoubtfully the most well-known, the most visited and possibly, nay probably, the most vibrant. Even moreso for the major festivities, the Carnival and New Years. An estimated 2 million people flock the various beaches of Rio for the last day of the year, and 2014 saw me as one of them.
A scenic drive along the coast brought the orange truck and its passengers from the home of pirates to the home of party. 'Ooohs' and 'Aaahs' were exclaimed upon viewing some big statue atop a mountain, far off in the distance. The streets grew busier, the buildings grew denser, and soon we disembarked the orange vessel for the very last time. The time for repacking was now; no more camping gear or hiking boots were needed, and several items of clothing had to find their way to a laundrymaster, stat. Twas the night before New Years, and officially the last day of the tour, except for those who were to continue on to Cusco. As such, a farewell dinner was had, even if almost all were going to stay in Rio until after New Years.
On New Year's Eve, I switched to another hostel, as my trip with Dragoman was technically over. Moving to the bustling and hip Lapa district up north, it turned out that Matthew had his new accomodation just a few blocks away. After settling in, it was about time to get ready for the night's festivities. A seven course menu was set, I collected my tux at the dry cleaners and walked into my travel humidor in search of a fitting 12-o'clock-cigar. No, but seriously, a new year party at any of the beaches in Rio has its own set of musts and shoulds, and we were heading to the busiest of them all: Copacabana. It's BYO, although stalls and vendors cover the area. And as a tradition, or old charter, or something, NY celebrations should be in white. I already had my white boarders and singlet, but set out to buy some more suitable white shit, such as a dressshirt, a hat and a waistcoat. I found the booze, and a hat, for as little as 10 brazziebobs, but scored naught on the rest. Plans had been made on meeting the others at a certain time and place, but there were still time to kill, so we went to a nearby dive for a beer. The Brazilians are very friendly and talkative, and don't really care if us gringos don't speak a word of Portuguese other than 'Cerveja' and 'Obrigado'. We had an entire conversation with an emotional roller-coaster of a man, using sign language, photos and business cards; first he was exalted over his 7 year old son, then grieving his dead mum (or possibly wife), then proud of his sign-making business, then cheerful because it was new years.
Arriving at the decided meetingpoint on time, others soon emerged, and we felt eager to head out on the beach, an idea shared with an awful lot of others. As it were, the couples stayed on the footpath, whereas us young single hip people hit the sand, thus dividing the rather large group into more sufficient portions. A different New Year's than usual it was; no dinner, no fancy clothing, but instead heaps of sand and fun conversations. At the strike of midnight, I popped my baby Chandon (champagne is still a must on NYE), there were hugs and kisses all around, and the most magnificent fireworks imaginable exploded in the night sky above the ocean waves. On the party went until it was time to go home. Getting hold of a taxi on New Year's is tricky enough in ordinary cities, but in Rio, by Copacabana, one might just as well hope to find a functioning teleportation device. And so, we walked. On and on we walked, northwards through tunnels and past street food vendors, on streets and through parks. Some in flipflops (or thongs if you will), some in someone else's thongs (or flipflops if you will), some in the odd pair and some barefoot. Thongs are easily lost in the sand. Northwards we walked until we found operating taxis, and all and sundry made it back home safely.
On New Year's Day, or International Pizza Day as it's also known as, all was quiet. I ventured a very strenous hike among the extremely steep streets of Lapa and Santa Teresa, in search of a decent pizza place, which I found by Arco de Lapa, the big white aqueduct turned street art gallery. However, the day was far from over. The Dragoman truck had left early morn, but most of us were still around. As Pauline and Anthony were to leave the next day, and the rest of us were spread over town, left to our own devices, we met up at the rooftop bar of Windsor, with an excellent view of Copacabana and surroundings, for farewell drinks. One by one, two by two, my fellow co-travellers wandered off, until just me, Matthew and Carl remained. Heading out to a bar in Ipamena, I had the most frightening taxi ride: The windscreen was partly covered by a tv, that was on. Hardly had we gotten in the cab until the driver offered us weed, and as it turned out, cab driver was just his bread job; he was a DJ. Safe to say, I felt relieved once we arrived at our destination. The night ended fairly early, though, as the next morning had touristy shit on the agenda.
There are many sights and many queues to lo, behold and wait in when visiting Rio, especially during the busiest, barring carnival times, time of the year. Luckily I was at this point so much buddies with those in the yellow truck that I got to go with them on a city tour, where pre-arranged tickets and the power of small, organised groups let us swiftly pass the humongous lines stretching from the major tourist spots. First up was Sugarloaf mountain (Pao de Acucar), and its cable cars. Towering high above its surroundings, the views from atop are excellent, and the camera went clickity-click, sometimes just focusing on the city and landscapes sprawling beneath, sometimes with me, Snoops and/or my friends from the yellow truck obstructing or enhancing the view. In the scorching heat, many a bottles of water were drunk, and after Pao de Acucar, it was a relief to get in the relative coolness of the Metropolitan Cathedral of San Sebastian. With the outside hideously designed in concrete, to the geeky resembling a Dalek, the inside was vast and tastefully, yet lavishly decorated. The designer, Edgar Fonceca, meant for just that, to show that an ugly exterior can still have beauty within, where it really counts. Close by the cathedral, via the aforementioned Arco de Lapa, is Escadaria Selarón, the Lapa Steps. Covered in tiles, depicting artwork and cultural symbolism from many countries all over the world, the steps make an impressive and colourful sight. The touristy crowd subsides the higher up you climb, so it's definately worth it, ascending all the way up, Rocky-style (Rocky's tile?).
The most famous landmark of Rio, and in fact viewed as one of the seven modern wonders of the world, is of course the iconic 30+8 metre Jesus statue atop Corcovado. The timing was off for our little minibus, and we had a choice of waiting three hours and take the shuttle to the top or go straight ahead and walk uphill the last bit, an ascent that reputedly would take 25-30 minutes. Most of us opted for the latter, and so started climbing. Under any other circumstances, the time estimate would be accurate or even a bit pessimistic, but in over 40 degrees heat, humidity reaching almost fog level and an extreme n00b in thongs, it did take a little longer. It was a fun climb, though, as we fantasized about the infinity pool that might or might not be found atop, complete with free caiprinhas, ice bars and waterslides. The infinity pool was, of course, not there, but other things were: A huge statue of Cristo Redentor, Christ the Redeemer (or the Reindeer, as he's sometimes jokingly referred to), and about 33 billion tourists. A third of them were doing the obligatory outstreched-arms-pose, a third were on their knees photographing the first third with Jesus in the background and a third was doing both, donning their iphones or GoPros clutched to their selfie-sticks. Again, the view from atop was astounding, and even though drenched in sweat, we posed and snapped happily away. The walk down was obviously way less strenous, and Winnifred and I even skippity-hopped parts of the way down.
The day was not over, though. In addition to the yellow truck soon on its merry, and Lauren and Winnifred heading off on their own, it was also Tina's birthday. A combined farewell- and birthday dinner in Flamengo took place, after which, again people dropped off into the night. The happeningest place in town is Lapa, though, and so a few of us headed there, finding a huge outdoors serving spot and ordered in Torres de Cerveja, beer towers. The streets were filled with partying people, spontaneous samba and the occasional drum orchestra. But all good things must come to an end, and so it was farewell to those of yellow colour as well.
I still had some touristy things to do, though. I booked a tour of a favela, the shantytowns of Brazil. Climbing the steep mountain sides, where land is cheap compared to the flatter areas near the ocean, the favelas are home for the low of income and education, as well as drug dealers and cartels. Rocinha was the destination for the day, and we were guided from way up top, through the narrow (and sometimes extremely narrow) alleyways mazing their way through the brick-and-mortar houses. Sampling the local delicacies, visiting an art workshop and watching a drum performance with dancing kids were parts of the tour, as well as our guide telling us about the killings and shootings and gang wars that usually takes place. An experience hard to describe, as the heat and, not least, the smell, adds to the feeling of poverty one gets of this place. Still, the inhabitants seem to take the cards they've been dealt in good humour.
As the trip was reaching an end, I went from poor Rocinha to posh Ipamena. The main goal was to shop for presents, and I found was I was looking for, and more: even Snoopy got a present, namely a pair of Snoopy-and-Woodstock thongs. With all of my shopping done, and all of my touristy shit covered, and all of my friends gone or leaving, I started mentally and physically preparing for the end of this odyssey. It has been a rollercoaster of a ride, and a trip of polar opposites: The cold of Antarctica and Altiplano and the heat of inland Brazil; the dryness of the Chilean desert and the humidity of Rio; the questionable llama knees of Bolivia and the tastiest, most tender beef in Salta; the high altitudes and the low, the posh hotels and basic camping. I love rollercoasters, and this has been a hell of a ride.
To summarize: I went to Rio, partied in the new year on Copacabana, saw yet another Redeemer, and experienced the extreme polarity in richness-poverty.
Fun factoid: It is well-known, to those who know it well, that a barge from which they shot fireworks for new year's caught on fire this time. It happens ever so often, in fact so often that it has become a tradition, or an old charter, or something, for the partying people on the beach to make bets on if and when a barge will catch fire.
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