Brazil - redemption, booze and miniscule bikinis

JC

Our lack of updates from Brazil tells you everything you need to know - this is a country where lethargy, apathy and outright procrastination are taken very seriously.

As Cachaça-blurred nights wear on, and Brazilian friends congregate for another round of cocktails, the muted background bossanova gently soothes the hangovers from the previous night. The humidity forms small sweat drops on everyone's temples and the sweet breeze from the ocean never stops. This is a place for doing not much.


Paraty pier

Regardless of age, gender, race or social standing, people here appear oblivious to any other worldly worries than what faces them at that particular moment (which most of the time seems to be - which drink shall I try next?). And what an enviable dilemma that is.

Of all the countries we've been to so far, this, by a long shot, is the most multi-racial country. Had you awoken from amnesia in the streets of an average Brazilian city, it would take you quite a while till you figured out which country you were in. There is no single common denominator for what a Brazilian looks like. Black. White. Tall. Asian. Fat. Short. Slender. They are all mixed into one. Perhaps the way they act would be the best indicator - a swagger in their step and a confident smile. Alternatively, the surface area of their bikini is another reliable indicator. They don't waste much lycra around here.

After spending a few lazy days on the decks of charter boats and in the womb-like hammocks of our Paraty posada, we continued up the coast, to take in the splendour of Rio.


Bulging

Wedged in the hills between the airport and downtown, in the cosy suburb of Santa Teresa, we hung out in accommodation favoured by a mighty strange breed of artists. Denise's Place doesn't advertise, instead relying on word-of-mouth in the international artists-in-residence circles; from what we could see - conceptualists on sabbatical.

And boy does it bring in an eccentric crew of weirdos. Over black coffee in the china white breakfast room we met Bruno-the-balding-film-maker, Yaan-the-horse-riding-photographer, Anna-the-silent-philosopher, Anja-the-installation-artist and Carlos-the-topless-drug-user, all of them very androgynous and intense. Still, they made for a pleasant change from the reserved holiday elite of our past few hotels.


Santa Teresa

For local sights, other than, of course, Praia Copacabana and Praia Ipanema, we visited the impressive 'O Cristo Redentor' (Christ the Redeemer), a statue that at 40 meters and 700 tons took nine years to complete (in 1931). It's famous for being named as one of the New Seven Wonders of the World (of which we've seen two others along our trip - The Great Wall of China and Petra, as well as three other worthy nominees - the Easter Island Moais, the Sydney Opera House and the temples of Angkor Wat).

The Christ statue is also famous for being the spot where fearless Felix Baumgartner (Austrian extreme dude and pioneer of base jumping), climbed and base jumped off in 1999. The day after our visit three other morons tried to copy Felix - one died on the scene and the other two have still not been found.


Street buddies

To see another side to Rio we went on a memorable tour of one of the many favelas, the infamous shanty towns made from garbage, plywood and bricks. With 1 in 4 people in Rio living in one, this was a rare opportunity for us to see life away from the glitz of the beaches. As it happened, it was also a rare opportunity to see organized crime, open drug dealing and smiling ten year olds carrying sub machine guns.


Favella vista

In pouring rain we hiked up narrow, irregular stairways through randomly evolved wooden shacks, up the steep mountain side, to the top of the Santa Marta favela. We met drug dealers, drug users but also a large number of decent, friendly, hard working people, who just happened to live there. Sheila, our local guide, explained the complex intricacies of this peculiar Brazilian society - a world where people live so closely together that local crime is remarkably rare. Amazingly, a feudal structure is adhered to, even in the way people steal electricity or trade their shanty 'houses'.


Favela family

The next day we had a chance encounter with Thierry, a French Antiques dealer who paid too much attention to his Cachaça and too little attention to his Antiques shop ("I have had more than 46 businesses in 10 years" he said in between shots of booze). Still, Thierry was a gem. Both funny and smart. And, as it happened, he was our gateway to meet Mohammed - a French Algerian street artist who invited Sami to help with a graffiti mural. Nice.


Mo and Sami at work

Since a few days back we're in Itacare - a tiny, hidden fishing village perched on the coast of Bahia. We're surfing beautiful beaches and kicking back over fresh fruit salads. And, of course, a few too many moreish Caipirinias.

After more than 6 months of constant lugging of luggage and fleeting visits, this is a breath of fresh air. As we write this, from a hammock on our veranda, we're faced with a panorama of the beach, with dozens of long boarders zig-zagging the tubular Atlantic waves.

Tomorrow we have another surf class. Till then our hosts are under strict instruction to top up our drinks should they run dangerously low.

In the words of our drunken friend - Salut maintenant.


Rio from above