Arrived 21/02/20
Rio de Janeiro
It was a long trip from Christchurch to Rio. Not as long as Corriene’s to London, mind you. We shared the 1.5 hour flight to Auckland and after a longish wait both then had an 11 hour flight, mine to Buenos Aires, Corriene’s to Los Angeles; mine was followed by a 3 hour flight to Rio, her’s by another 11 hours to Heathrow. I managed to sleep for 1.5 hours, Corriene for less I imagine. Rather bizarrely, after crossing the international date line, I arrived in South America 5 hours before leaving New Zealand.
Touch down in Argentina was a little alarming, the plane swerving from side to side on the runway. We had just been told the baggage handlers were on strike and baggage would be delayed; with a connecting flight to catch I was very pleased that I only had hand luggage. More alarm came when I had to pay $440 for a croissant and coffee in the terminal, but it turned out to be in pesos at 80 to the £, so not too bad for an airport. The screens announced my flight was from gate 21 at the far end of the terminal. I walked all the way there to find a very long queue. I almost joined it but first checked the flight at the desk to find it was going elsewhere; they told me to go to gate 13, way back where I had come from. I went there only to find a different flight displayed; asking again I was told the flight was delayed but would be from that gate and to check again in 40 minutes. The screens still said gate 21. I found a seat a little way away and after 40 minutes I checked again to find the plane was already boarding! I made it OK but what a shambles. On the plus side I had managed to get on wifi and the owner of the apartment I was to stay in had finally sent me the code I needed to enter; fears of being stuck on the crime-ridden streets of Rio at midnight receded.
After that arrival in Rio was straightforward. There was the usual haggling over taxi fares but I had done my homework so knew what I should be paying. Traffic was clear and the expected 45 minute drive was only 25. The apartment was disappointing: smaller than expected with smelly pillows and zero information of any use to a visitor. I sent the owner a long list of issues the next morning. It turned out she was in Portugal but sent her (non-English speaking) assistant around with new pillows and other necessities. I wasn’t in New Zealand any more, that was for sure.
I got to sleep the first night at 1.30am (5.30pm the next afternoon NZ time) and slept until 12.30pm. The next night I was asleep at 10.30pm, then up again at 1.30am and couldn’t sleep again until 6.30am. Isn’t international travel fun!
Carnival had just kicked off in Rio. I didn’t make the huge official parade in the Sambadrome; bit daft not to really when I was in the city, but it started at 9.00pm and went on until dawn; in my jet lagged state I couldn’t face that. It is also quite pricey and you get to sit (or probably stand) up in a grandstand away from the participants, so I contented myself with watching on television. The costumes are, of course, fantastic and must cost a fortune to put together with sometimes scores or even hundreds of people having identical extravagant outfits. Out in the city it was full of street parties every day. I ran into 3 in my first 2 days without looking. I had imagined they would be mini versions of the big parade but more intimate; well, I certainly got to jostle my intimate way through big crowds, but although a lot of people dress up, it was nothing like the official parade. No one seems to care what anyone else wears; bare chests and tutus seem popular with the guys while lots of women favour the devil look, but anything goes. I wore shorts and a short sleeved shirt with a collar and felt overdressed. Not a lot seems to happen at these dos. Everyone just stands around, drinking and talking or occasionally jigging about if there is music playing. Being on my own it was not great to be alone in the crowds and I didn’t linger in any of them. Corriene, where are you?
Brazilians I met on my travels had warned me to be careful of theft, and the UK government advice website also has plenty of warnings. I was careful, leaving most of my valuables hidden in my room and wearing my bum bag under my shirt. Even so, I nearly had my phone stolen. I was on the Ipanema beach promenade in the early evening after dinner with crowds of people around and had my phone in my hand to check on the route home when a guy ran past and made a grab for it. Fortunately I had a good hold and he didn’t get it but the incident unsettled me somewhat. Apart from anything else the (rather long) entry code for the apartment was on the phone and I would have had no way to get in or contact the owner had I lost it. The first thing I did when I got back was to write the number on a piece of paper. Phew!
Rio is dominated by hills, many too steep to build on. I couldn’t see them until the second day when the clouds lifted to reveal Christ the Redeemer atop his hill. The flatter land is filled by high rise apartments, a little like Hong Kong but not so high and not so many. On an overcast and drizzly day 1 I had walked along Ipanema beach to Copacabana to the tourist information booth. On day 2 I decided I needed to walk more and tire myself out so that hopefully I would sleep better. I walked right around Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas lake, stopping to tour the Botanic Gardens on the way, and would have visited the Parque Lage gardens as well had they not been closed by the time I got there. I contented myself with looking over the wall; from what I could see they weren’t that special and resembled the Botanic Gardens, which had a good collection of Brazilian trees but as a garden weren’t a patch on my favourite in Christchurch, but if you are into Bromeliads they have a fine collection of those and another of orchids, although the cactus houses were the best. Having got wet on day 1 and having had to buy a plastic mac that disintegrated by the time I got home, on day 2 I carried my umbrella; needless to say it didn’t rain. But I should have worn my hat to keep the sun off.
My plan to get a better sleep worked – a little. I settled down to sleep at 12.30am and slept until 5.00, then awake until 6.00 and asleep until 10.00. It was getting better. The morning was bright with high cloud so I decided to visit Cristo Redentor Corcovado, the iconic statue of Christ the Redeemer high on the hills overlooking the city. I walked into Copacabana and found the bus stop the tourist information had told me to use. After a 20 minute wait the bus appeared; in the meantime it had started to rain. I showed the bus driver where I wanted to go on a map but the unhelpful git just blubbered something in Portuguese, I think to the effect that if I couldn’t speak the language he wasn’t interested in helping me. Fortunately another passenger took pity and confirmed I was on the right bus. I thought the bus would take me all the way; it was certainly going to a nearby district, but my benefactor ushered me off while still in the centre and pointed me at a ticket office from where a rather expensive shuttle service operated to Corcovado. By this time the rain had settled in and the kind lady in the booth informed me that nothing could be seen from the top! I changed my mind and decided to visit the Arcos do Lapa instead.
This 18th century construction, also known as the Carioca Aqueduct, no longer carries water but since the 19th century has provided a carriageway for a tram to the Santa Teresa district. I wanted to visit there as well, but my way led through a narrow street where a party was taking place. I entered the crowd but before long wished I hadn’t; the crush was such that it was almost impossible to move, and got worse as I approached the live music at the centre of the throng. I just kept edging my way forward until eventually I was out in relatively open air and then found the long steps and road that led uphill, eventually providing views across the cloudy city.
I walked down the easy way, avoiding the street party, and eventually found a metro station to catch a train back to General Osorio, my local station, where I bought some beers at the local shop and put my feet up on the bed.
After another rather disturbed night (the noise from the air cooler was becoming increasing annoying) I slept late again and after finding hotels for Iguazu Falls and my last night in Rio and also booking transport home from Gatwick, and then doing some washing, it was already mid-afternoon when I set out to have another try for Corcovado. I took the metro to Largo do Machada and emerged to find myself in the middle of yet another extremely noisy and packed street party. I headed off through the crowd in what I thought was the right direction; it wasn’t, but I only discovered that after 15 minutes of pushing through the throng. I have to say that the more street parties I bumped into the less I liked them. Although all ages seem to enjoy them, the biggest proportion are young; I think it would help if I was under 30 – I should have gone a few years ago before I turned into a boring old fart. Never mind, I finally found the ticket office I was looking for and the shuttle bus took me up the mountain. This time the weather was perfect and, although there were crowds competing for the best spots, I was able to enjoy marvellous views of the city and surrounding hills, including the famous Sugarloaf mountain. It really is a stunning city to look at. Just rather noisy at Carnival time. And crowded. And rather dangerous. And rather hot and humid. But apart from that – great.
On day 5 the street parties were finally over and just a few stragglers were still in costume; the city was certainly quieter and easier to walk around. A visit here would not be complete without going to the top of the Sugarloaf Mountain, so I took the train to Botafogo, intending to catch the bus from there but got fed up waiting and started to walk. 1 minute later the bus went past and then, because I took a wrong turn, the 20 minute walk became 40. My misfortunes were not yet over; I joined the long queue for a cable car ticket only to find when I reached the front of the queue 25 minutes later that the automatic machines only took cards; I only had cash. Fortunately it turned out there was another ticket office around the corner that took cash and this one had no queue! The trials were all forgotten once I was aboard the cable car; actually there are 2; the first to a smaller hill called Morro da Urca and the second on to the peak itself. You can walk up the first one if you choose to do so (in the 33C heat and humidity I didn’t) but the Sugarloaf itself is sheer rock; if you don’t want to travel by cable car the only option is to climb it – and there are many routes up; I didn’t do that either.
From the top the views were remarkable. What a scenic city this is, densely populated high rises spread around between the green jungle-clad hillsides and precipitous peaks, golden crescents of sand between the rocky headlands and the statue of the Redeemer standing proudly above it all. I lingered long and took lots of photos.
Back on the ground I rested with a drink before going to find the bus. Of course, I got tired of waiting and walked again – but this time I took the right route. Lesson learned!
Iguacu Falls
(Note: The ‘c’ in Iguacu should have a little curly thing on the bottom. I don’t know the correct name for it or how to find it on my keyboard, but I do know it makes the ‘c’ soft so the name is pronounced ‘Iguassu’; in fact, it is sometimes spelled that way. To confuse matters more, in Argentina it is spelled ‘Iguazu’.)
Brazil is big – the 5th largest country in the world. Rio is in the south but it is another 2 hours flying to the southern borders with Paraguay and Argentina, which are defined by the Parana and Iguacu rivers. It was here that I was headed.
With a flight at 13.40 I did not have to rush to the airport and decided to use public transport rather then fork out for a taxi. I caught the metro from General Osorio in Ipanema, changed lines at Botafogo and got off at Vicente de Carvalho from where the BRT express runs to the airport. This is an articulated single decker bus that runs in a dedicated lane in the centre of the road; it is subject to traffic lights but not to traffic jams. I had read that they ran every 15 minutes and was getting quite concerned after 30 minutes when buses to everywhere but the airport had come and gone. I was considering getting a taxi when after 40 minutes the bus I needed finally showed up. As if to make amends for making me wait the driver put his foot hard down on both the straights and the bends and, standing up as I was, I would have been thrown around the bus several times had I not been firmly braced against a window. Before getting off I carefully checked that no bits of me or my baggage were strewn around the floor. Fortunately I was able to check in quickly at an automated counter, went straight through security and within 15 minutes was sitting down with a coffee and roll.
Approaching the airport at Foz do Iguacu we flew over the reservoir of the Parana river, an intricate pattern of submerged valleys like a mad jigsaw puzzle, the piece edges all neatly trimmed in dark green forest. It was formed when the Itaipu dam was commissioned in 1982, submerging the Guaira Falls, one of the largest waterfalls in the world. I had never heard of this dam, but it is massive and in some years produces more hydro-electricity than the far more famous Three Gorges dam in China. That view was a bonus, but I had come to see something more spectacular: the Iguacu Falls.
One of the widest if not one of the highest falls in the world, they occur where the Iguacu river plunges over an escarpment, carving out a gorge with scores of subsidiary falls along both the Brazilian and especially the Argentinian side. Above the falls the wide river ambles quietly along giving no hint of what is to come when it meets the edge and descends roaring into the depths hidden in rising clouds of water vapour. Each of the smaller falls on its own would be an attraction; the larger falls are immense and the largest is staggering. Taken together the effect is without any doubt the most stupendous natural spectacle I have ever seen in my whole life.
I spent one day on the Argentinian side and the next on the Brazilian. The former has more trails and allows one to get up close to several of the falls. From the visitor centre a train takes you to the trail leading across the placid waters to the Garganta del Diabolo – the Devil’s Throat – and this is one thirsty devil!
The Superior (upper) trail follows the line of the escarpment above several of the secondary falls, each one impressive in its own right.
The Inferior (lower) trail tracks a wide ledge half way down, with falls above and below.
The forest is home to birds, monkeys and many coaties, cheeky little beasts accustomed to stealing food. Although they do not normally attack people, there were signs warning that they could be dangerous and spread disease. A gang of them invaded the open carriages of our train, one making a woman scream when it brushed her leg unexpectedly and another dragging food out of an open backpack. They jumped off and made their getaway when the train got going. Later monkeys played in the trees, leaping athletically from a high trunk into the bushes below. Apparently jaguars are also occasionally seen; the signs warned not to run!
While the trip to Argentina took all day, with a pick up from my hotel at 7.45 and a return at 6.15, including 50 minutes to get into the country and 20 minutes to return, the Brazilian excursion with no borders to cross and only one trail was all over in 4.5 hours. It may have been shorter but it was almost as rewarding with fantastic views across to the Argentinian falls and up the Devil’s Throat.
The Itaipu dam has 20 turbines generating electricity, of which 18 are in use at once. The water that powers just 2 of them is equal to the average flow over the Iguacu Falls. Multiply by 9 to get the volume of water that used to flow over the Guaira Falls; what a sight that must have been!
Goodbye Brazil! Goodbye Travels!
I took a late afternoon flight from Foz do Iguacu to Rio, arriving on a dark, wet evening to take the easy taxi option to my hotel. I had arranged a late check out at 2.00pm the next day but still had 6.5 hours to wait for my taxi back to the airport ready for my 11 hour overnight flight to Gatwick. It was still raining and I wasn’t inclined to do anything energetic so after a couple of hours wandering around with my umbrella I returned to wait in the hotel lounge.
I passed through Largo do Machado, so much more pleasant now without the carnival crowds, and sat meditating for a while in the church. The steps outside smelled of urine; that had not been unusual last week, along with the occasional smell of wacky-backy. It is a pity that crime is such a problem; it is otherwise a very pleasant, leafy city, much more European than SE Asian in the quality of its infrastructure and the food – I ate well here.
Eventually it was time to go. The journey home was almost uneventful; the plane was not full so I had a little extra space but that did not help me sleep more than 1.5 hours; we landed 25 minutes early and I caught trains from Gatwick via Reading to Taunton. All went smoothly until a few miles from the station when faulty trackside equipment delayed us for 30 minutes. We were finally allowed to progress and Corriene picked me up and took me home.
I had had many great experiences but was ready to recharge my batteries at home, and, if I was completing my travels a little earlier than my draft plan, I was at least going out on a high, visiting one of the most scenic cities in the world and the most wonderful natural spectacle of my life at Iguacu Falls. I was content.
Rob's Roads 