Speed

Day 17, Monday, January 6, 1997

Rio is in fact a much larger city than I thought. A lot of it is taken up by mountains, so the buildings are all crammed into the small flat areas at the foot of the mountains. The famous beaches are in the south facing the ocean, with Leblon and Ipanema in the west and Copacabana and Botafogo in the east. Between the beaches and the mountains, there are only a few street blocks of flat land. The avenues run along this narrow corridor from Leblon to Botafogo before turning north towards the downtown area in the northeast.

Rio was supposed to be the climax of this trip, but by now I was tired, travel-weary, and still a little sick. Finding out how to get around no longer felt challenging or interesting, but like a drag. Fortunately, it wasn't too hard to figure out which buses to take to go to the downtown area. All the buses are clearly marked in the front what their destinations are. Given the topography of Rio, once we get the direction and destination right, it's pretty easy to find the right bus. There are so many buses running along the corridor, the streets look like a giant conveyor belt during the day.

One boards the bus in the back, pays the fare displayed, which is usually 55 cents, passes through the turnstile, and gets off at the front. The seniors can get on in the front. The driver would also allow vendors on to sell trinkets, who would then give the driver a small tip. I admire the skills and confidence of Rio's bus drivers. They would pull out of a curb even though it looks like another bus is bearing down fast. They would pass each other at high speed with mere inches to spare between them. On tight curves, even the seated passengers would have to reach out to grab onto whatever in sight in order not to be thrown out of the seats. It's like giving every taxi driver in New York City a bus. I had the feeling of riding on Sandra Bullock's bus in Speed. Brakes are frivolous.

We decided that we would hit the downtown area first and follow the walking tour laid out in LP's Rio City Guide. We got off the bus somewhere near Centro and walked to Teatro Municipal, a grand building influenced by the Paris Opéra. On another side of the square is the national library. Across the crafts market and up the hill is Convento de Santo Antônio. We walked in just as a service was about to begin, so we didn't stay long. The hill offers a commanding view of the surrounding area. We followed LP's route into the old section of the downtown, winding through narrow streets flanked by various shops, many of which are juice bars. It's not a particularly hot day, but it was very humid and hazy. The low pressure plus the high humidity made it feel very uncomfortable. We stopped at the Campo de Santana to take a break. It's a pleasant park with a statue of Emporor Dom Petro I, but not much more. We saw a number of these little tailess rat-like animals running around the park. LP says they are called agoutis.

Continuing on with the walking tour, we strolled through more of the old neighborhood. Some of the Christmas decorations hadn't been taken down. Shops selling all sorts of things spilled onto the already narrow and crowded pedestrian streets. We then diverged from the LP prescription in order to see the impressive Nossa Senhora de Candelária at the end of the wide boulevard of Avenida Presidente Vargas. The church was pretty much empty around noon. We sat for a while admiring the baroque interior and took advantage of the cool air inside the cavernous hall. We then went on to see Paço Imperial, the former royal palace. I must say it wasn't very interesting to walk around in sticky weather looking at buildings.

Since we were in the downtown business district, we tracked down the Citibank branch there to exchange some money and to further take advantage of the air-conditioning there. I confirmed that I got ripped off at Baybank in Boston. They gave me about 100 reals for some $104, but here they gave us 104 reals for every $100. No surprise there. That's why I usually get only a small amount of foreign currency beforehand to cover the possibility of not being able to exchange money immediately upon arrival.

Downtown during the day is all bustle and hustle, crowded and chaotic. We couldn't figure out where to each lunch, so we had a quick one at McDonald's. (Hey, we went to where the locals went.) Then we couldn't figure out how to get to Pão de Açúcar, the Sugar Loaf. LP Rio lists a few buses that take one there, but doesn't say at all on what streets these buses run so that we can find them. The maps in the book, following LP's habit of skipping labeling minor street names, aren't very good, either. In general, I didn't find this particular guide to be very well written. Oh, well, it's only the first edition. Ed asked some girl at the bus stop. She turned out to speak pretty good English and told us that there were no direct buses to Sugar Loaf. The LP guide does say, however, that the No. 107 bus goes there from Flamengo. We took the subway to Flamengo to at least put ourselves a little closer to our destination. We dropped by a supermarket to buy some water. Ed picked up three big oranges for 19 cents. We bumped around, walking in the right general direction, and actually found the No. 107 bus.

The Sugar Loaf is one amazing piece of rock. It looks like a fat almond sticking out of the ground 1200 feet into the air. The first-stage cable car takes one to the top of another rock, Morro da Urca, next to the almond, or sugar loaf if you want. The second stage brings you to the top of the almond. It's curious how low the clouds hung in the air. From the top of the Sugar Loaf, we could see pieces of clouds leisurely float past Morro da Urca.

From the top of Sugar Loaf one could see the crescent shaped Copacabana Beach. On the other side of the mountains is Baía de Guanabara and the neighborhood of Flamengo. The statue of Cristo Redento, Christ the Redeemer, could be seen atop Corcovado, the Hunchback, in the distance shrouded in a thin veil of clouds. It's a cloudy day with periods of rain. Still, it's a spectacular view of Rio from the top.

We bumped into the couple whom we had asked about the cheese balls at Garota a Ipanema the night before. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that they were tourists too. LP claims that some samba school puts on a show at the outdoor theater on top of Morro da Urca on Monday nights at nine. Not much seemed to be going on this rainy evening, so we decided that we'd just go to Leblon to catch a tourist production.

The bus from Sugar Loaf to Ipanema didn't go along the beaches, but around the neighborhoods in the north. It was a long ride. By now, my adrenaline had dried up despite the excitement of a Rio bus ride, and my melatonin started to take over. I couldn't help but doze off. I assumed that Ed would keep an eye on where we were going, and where we should get off. ...

We ended up at the airport. The check-in was a mess. VASP wasn't flying on Mondays or Tuesdays, but we weren't going to give up. The people hanging around VASP counter gave us directions to Air Peru. I was very pleased when we got there that indeed they were open for business. We bought tickets. We boarded. The food turned out to be very nice. Too bad Ed still couldn't talk or eat. At the recommendation of the flight attendant, I had a Brazilian BBQ steak. We were seated in the first row. It's slightly taxing on the neck, but we were really close to the movie screen, and the characters in the movie they showed, Samba Erotica, seemed to walk by right in front of us.

Just as the show was about to end, a man came up. "This plane is now under the command of the Revolutionary Front of Free Peru."

He started to ask where the passengers were from. There was a block of Chileans. There were a few Argentineans, a few Europeans from a variety of countries. There was also a Japanese couple, and a lone Chinese girl who seemed to be in the company of some Argentineans. The guy was naming one country after another. We waited. He got to, "United States of America!" We looked around. No one else. No one else? We raised our hands. If he was surprised that we claimed to be Americans, he didn't hide it very well.

"Americans?" he questioned.

"Yes," we answered.

"No Japanese?" he wanted to confirm.

"No."

"Americans?!"

"Yes."

"No Japanese?!"

"No."

"Americans."

"Yes."

"Stand up."

We stood up, made ourselves known to the other people. Ladies and gentlemen, this ought to be a good opportunity for you to learn, if you don't already know, that Americans do come in all colors and stripes.

"Japanese, come up."

The recent TWA 800 crash was still fresh on our mind. There were speculations about whether the cause was a terrorist bomb or a mechanical failure. Just before we left for South America, some guerrillas stormed the Japanese embassy in Lima, and took all the distinguished guests hostage. The situation was no where near resolved even after we got back to the U.S. The average not-so-well-informed air traveler might tell me to avoid South American airlines because they crash. Now he might also tell me to avoid South America because there were terrorists. Why didn't I heed their advice?

Thank God he believed that we were Americans. We are welcome everywhere.

"Freedom fighters of the world, Unite! This plane is being diverted to Tehran. Now, the Americans, come up!"

Ohh..., shit! I knew claiming to be American would get me into trouble one day. Now the spotlight was on us. Ed backed off shaking his head, and said, "I can't. I have a sore throat. You go." And he pushed me forward. This sure was a great time to find out who my real friends were ...