Transiting Through Africa–From Victoria Falls through Johannesburg to Cape Town

Jul5

Sunday, July 5, 2015: Victoria Falls-Johannesburg-Cape Town:

            Today was a day spent in transit en route from Zimbabwe’s Victoria Falls to South Africa’s Cape Town via the capital city of Johannesburg.

            Since our flight was not until 1. 15 pm with a pick up from our hotel scheduled for 11.00 am, we had the luxury of a lovely lie-in—all the way until 8.00 am before we decided to get down for breakfast to Jungle Junction, the shack-like restaurant past the pool on the premises of our hotel. We made sure that we completed the bulk of our packing before we left for breakfast as check-out time was 10.00 am. If the porter brought our luggage down to the lobby by 10.00 am, we’d have an hour to kill in the hotel’s beautiful premises before our departure.

 Buffet Breakfast in the Jungle Junction:

            Having eaten a Bush Breakfast yesterday in the Bush following our Elephant Back Safari, we were introduced to the sumptuous buffet breakfast on the sun-drenched terrace of our hotel overlooking the Zambesi Gorge, the Rainbow Bridge and the rising spray that appeared like smoke from the Falls just behind the canyon. We ordered custom-made omlettes filled with ham, cheese and mushrooms which we then enjoyed with bacon, sausages, baked beans and grilled tomatoes. A small muesli cup filled with yoghurt, fresh strawberry puree and granola followed and we finally ended our meal with fresh fruit including the tropical pawpaw or papaya that I love. All this was washed down with guava juice and fresh coffee.  Service was simply awesome and we appreciated the attention to detail as well as the graciousness of the wait staff as they brought us our every desire. Truly, we could get used to this five-star lifestyle!

            In the hour that we had to kill before our airport pick-up, we wandered down to the Zambesi Gorge to take more pictures. We fell into conversation with a couple from Cape Town on a short holiday in Zimbabwe and they proved to be a mine of information about tourist sight seeing activity in their city. But an hour later, we were off and away feeling actually a bit sorry to leave such a fabulous hotel that was steeped in so much colonial history.

 Departure for Cape Town:

            Once again, we discovered upon arrival at Victoria Falls airport that ours was not a direct flight to Cape Town as there are none that exist currently. Later this year, once the new terminal that is currently under construction is complete, passengers can travel directly. But not only did the check-in queue move at snail’s pace  at Zimbabwe airport, but by the time we reached the counter, the flight was full. There was a possibility that we would be off-loaded. Naturally, we were not happy campers as we had a connecting flight at Johannesburg. After keeping us guessing for a few hairy minutes, the Manager at the South African Airlines counter gave us the good news that we had been upgraded to Club Class! Boy! Were we relieved! And thrilled to bits. We were proving to have amazing luck on our flights and we hoped not to jinx our successful journeys.

            We did take off a little after schedule. Needless to day, we enjoyed the pampering in Club Class with the sparkling white wine that I ordered and the local South African Cabernet that Llew sipped. Our lunch was equally delicious and we felt well-fortified to undertake the next leg of our journey.

At Johannesburg, we had to clear Immigration and Customs and take our baggage to the Domestic Departures section for an on-going flight to Cape Town. Here too, the Immigration line was a mess with most passengers moving sluggishly and several cutting the queue. Long story short, we managed to make our connecting flight to Cape Town with no further incident but we are slowly getting accustomed to the absolute tardiness and lack of efficiency which seems to be a cultural trait.

            We were on board our onward flight that departed from Johannesburg at 5 pm with a scheduled arrival time of 7. 10 pm in Cape Town. We were ready for the left segment of our travels in Africa in a city about which everyone eulogizes.      

            A tour representative was waiting to take us to our hotel, The Victoria and Alfred Hotel—yes, you read that correctly: it is the V and A Hotel but Victoria’s beloved Alfred is not the consort after which this hotel has been named. I shall have to do some research to find out where the Alfred comes from! Be that as it may, we had a very smooth drive to the hotel in Cape Town. It was 8.00 pm and so completely dark—we could see little but what we did see was impressive. This could be a First World City—first impressions were very positive indeed.

            Out hotel is just as lovely as the one in Zimbabwe—except that it is much more modern. It is on the lovely V&A Waterfront and the view from our window reveals the lights of the pier. There is a massive ferris wheel—similar to the London Eye—outside our window but we were simply too tired to go out and explore tonight.

            All sightseeing will have to wait until tomorrow. We showered, relaxed with a beer and a wine and munched on trail mix and then it was time to catch up with some TV and relax.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!            

Victoria Falls in Africa–Or Niagara On Viagara and Other Tourist Encounters

Jul5

Friday, July 4, 2015: Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe:

The Thrills of an Elephant Back Safari:

            We could not afford the luxury of a long lie-in as we needed to set our alarms really early as Llew and I would be picked up at 6. 15 am to participate in the Elephant Back Safari for which we had signed up ($125 per head). In about half an hour, we were down in the hotel lobby joining a few other hotel guests who were already in the coach that took us on the bumpiest half hour ride through near-desert vegetation to get us to the ‘farm’ where tamed, trained elephants take visitors on a ride through the Bush to spy wildlife from the back of an elephant.

            Once we alighted from the bus, we made our way to the base camp where we were treated to hot tea or coffee and biscuits—once again, the British colonial touch was unmistakable. It felt chilly, despite the fact that we had dressed warmly in layers. So you can imagine how grateful we felt for the massive teak wood fires that were lit in pits in the ground. They threw out an abundant amount of heat that warmed us to the core and prepared us for the ride that lay in store.

            Another half hour later, we were mounting the metal staircase to get on to the elephant’s back. Llew and I were given one elephant (named Tatou) and one guide named Taurai—and for the next 45 minutes, we took a slow and leisurely stroll through the Bush in search of animals. We were warned that sightings depended entirely on our luck. Although it was still very early in the morning (about 7.00 am), there weren’t many animals to be seen—there were loads of guinea fowl in flocks running all over the place, but it didn’t seem as if we would see very much. And then about 15 minutes into our ride, during which time Taurai kept up a running commentary on the landscape, its vegetation, elephant habits, etc. we spied it—a single wild elephant in the distance feeding on a tree. Our line of tamed elephants with their trainers in charge kept a respectful distance: no one wished to antagonize the wild elephant who was liable to charge at any time—particularly while feeding. When we had feasted our eyes on the sight, we moved on—only to spy a little group of wart hogs—funny-looking animals who run with their tails pointing upright in the air! We had opportunities to take pictures sitting on our elephant’s knee, we had the experience of feeding it treats (little pellets name of molasses, maize (corn), sunflower seeds, etc.) We took a lot of pictures and when we felt as if we were ready to say goodbye to our elephant, we adjourned into the tent for a typical Bush Breakfast.

Partaking of a Bush Breakfast:

            Indeed by the time we were seated with the rest of our party at long tables, we were so ready for a big meal—why is it that staring at animals makes one so hungry? It was hard to fathom the reason—but we all did justice to the buffet offerings: eggs were freshly prepared for us, according to individual taste, on roaring wood fires that imparted an unusual smoked flavor to everything we tasted. There were sausages, minced meat stew, tomatoes and onions well sautéed, baked beans and toast. Clearly, the colonial impact is still alive and licking in Africa and we were treated to the thrills of a “Full English” in the Bush! Juice, tea and coffee were also plentifully available. We chatted with our travel companions—almost all of whom, except for two Aussie females, came from various parts of America. Almost all of them had stories to tell of the various safaris they have taken in the past couple of weeks, their close encounters with animals in the wild and their newly-gained knowledge of African wildlife. We became very excited about the safari treats that lay in store for us at Kruger.

            And then, just as we reached the very edge of the game reserve, we spied a small cluster of four zebras also feeding off the foliage. It was not a bad elephant back safari after all. Having said that, at the cost of $125 per head, it was far too steep and it is not something we would recommend if one has ridden an elephant in any part of the world—as we have done in Jaipur, Kerala and Thailand. 

 A Hike to the Victoria Falls:

            It was about hour later that we were back in our hotel, only to find that our friends had eaten a substantial buffet breakfast in the hotel and were ready to take a hike to the Victoria Falls—the very reason who had made a detour to this tiny town. By this time, we had the opportunity to marvel at the fantastic location of our hotel for it overlooks the Zambesi Gorge and the Rainbow Bridge that spans it. Although the canyon hit the actual falls from sight, we could easily discern the foamy, smoke-like mist that floats above the Falls because the volume and velocity are so great. The hotel is surrounded by manicured lawns that are well-watered to an emerald green spruceness. And best of all, it was just a short ten minute walk through the Bush, part of Zambesi National Park, to the Falls.

 Finally, Vic Falls—Like the Niagara on Viagara!

            At the entrance to Zambesi National Park, at the point where we purchased tickets to enter and see the Falls ($30 per head), those among us without adequate waterproof gear, including Llew, rented plastic ponchos for $3 each. They are distributed in lovely vivid colors and they make beautiful pictures.

            The trail leading to the Look-Out Decks on the canyon that forms the Victoria Falls is lined with well-numbered spots each of which offers a different perspective of the Falls. Cheri-Anne, who is a member of our party, suggested that we start with the furthest point (Number 16) and make our way down the River to Spot Number 1 which is considered the most impressive one—named Devil’s Throat. And so for the first fifteen minutes, as the roaring thunder of the falls drew nearer, we passed through Bush and got increasingly wetter. Although one speaks of it as spray, the Falls generate what amounts to a small downpour—I had a raincoat on but I was cold and as water trickled down my drenched baseball cap and flowed down my neck, I got colder and wetter beneath!

            Meanwhile, with every step, we inched closer to the Falls. At the summit, spectacularly breathtaking sights awaited us. There were double rainbows in the deep canyon where the water met the river bed. But the force was so strong and the spray so high that it was difficult to pull our cameras out of our pockets to take pictures. Besides, the mist flowing over the stones that skirt the canyon make the area extremely slippery and dangerous and there are no guard rails to stop a fall (shudder!). All of this makes the spot daunting but compelling. We braved the elements and took pictures, all the time thinking as Cheri-Anne put it, “This is like Niagara on Viagara!” And no truer words were ever spoken! It was incredible to behold and we simply could not drag ourselves away from the sight.

            At the Bridge Look Out point, we watched bungee jumpers catapult over the river with all the daring the human heart can muster. One can take a walk across the Bridge (A Bridge Tour) and get over on the other side—to another country, Zambia. But as we did not have visas to get there, we contented ourselves with a look over on the other side. 

            But inevitably, despite the attractions of the view and the dare-devil bungee jumpers, as we had to move on, we did. We continued down river making our way through the descending order of numbered Look Out points and taking pictures everywhere of the wall or curtain of water that is formed by the mile long length of canyon over which the river tumbles to the base. Eventually, when we got to Number One, we found a confluence of a number of natural elements: a gorge, three or four different types of waterfalls depending on height, width and volume, a very narrow natural gorge, a brilliant rainbow. And when we eventually turned away from this sight, we gazed in wonder upon the sculpture of Dr. David Livingston, the explorer who in 1855 ‘discovered’ the natural wonders of Africa, including the Victoria Falls and lived to tell the world about them. He, naturally, named them for his Queen—Victoria. The grand towering sculpture of Livingston as Explorer is by Walter Reid and it was installed in 1955 by the Lieutenant Governor of Rhodesia, Lord Llewellyn (my husband’s name sake) to mark the centenary of the ‘discovery’. It does not matter whether one starts or ends the trek through the well-marked trail at this point—the sculpture has a tremendous impact and we loved every second. I was reminded of a lesson I had in middle school (Grade VII) about the eventual meeting of another English explorer Stanley who, on encountering the ‘lost’ explorer, uttered the words, “Dr. Livingston, I presume.”

 A Close And Very Unexpected Encounter with a Pachyderm:

            It was while we were walking back to our hotel from the Falls that an elephant suddenly materialized in front of us. Having just emerged from the river, it gleamed a startling iron-grey! Llew and I stood by to take pictures with the elephant in the back of us when, coming down the path in front of us, were two gentlemen. Since the elephant was concealed behind a very large bush from which it was feeding, the men had no idea he was there. We did not know how to warn them—yelling out to them might have frightened the elephant. Hence, they were only about two feet from the elephant when they saw it—and it was at this point that the elephant got annoyed at being disturbed while he was feeding. It reared up angrily, tossed its trunk far behind and trumpeted at them in anger—a sound that so startled the men that one of them reared up in return! Had we the presence of mind to videotape it, it would have made a conversation piece for the rest of our lives! However, in a few minutes, the massive animal calmed down and the guy who turned out to be British said, “Bloody Hell! My heart is still thundering in my chest!” When I look back upon the incident now, I find myself cracking up with laughter—but indeed, had the elephant become more enraged, it could have had a very ugly or a very sad ending.   

 A Walk Through the Town of Victoria Falls:

            Back in our hotel, we decided to go out to explore the little town of Victoria Falls as we did have the rest of the afternoon free until we met again with our friends in the hotel lobby for High Tea. As in the case of many towns with one fabulous attraction (Foz de Iguazzu in Brazil, Agra in India, etc.) so too here the town of Victoria Falls is tiny, dusty and unimpressive. A short walk through it took us into many of the souvenir stores where we found trading in the parallel currency of US dollars which is as good as legal tender in Zimbabwe. But how terribly exorbitant all the prices seemed to us! A single postcard cost $1 (in the US, once can find at least 3, even 4, for the same price). A fridge magnet cost $5, a T-shirt regardless of design or size, was a flat $20. There was simply no bargaining, no room for negotiation, and we soon discovered that all the stores have the exact flat rate for every item they sell—there is no such thing as undercutting!

            But there are crafts galore for anyone who wishes to purchase them: wonderful native African woods like teak and mahogany are carved into animal figurines and polished to a high shine. There are bowls, carvings galore, brightly-painted masks, beaded jewelry. You name it, the shops sell them—the craftsmanship is fine and it is clear that these people take pride in their talents and their wares. Unfortunately, we did not wish to carry anything home, so contented ourselves with the mandatory postcard and magnet that we buy from every place we visit—and a T-shirt for my brother Russel who collects them. When we had acquired a small taste of the merchandise on offer, we strolled back to our hotel—only to be accosted by an army of baboons—large, fierce monkeys that stalk garbage bins in search of food to forage. We saw so many that our camera could not keep up with their speed and agility.  

 High Tea on the Hotel Terrace:

            A short rest (read nap for me) in the hotel saw me rise to partake of the next meal on our agenda—High Tea on the Livingston Terrace of our hotel with the mist rising from the Falls in the background. Two members of our party, Ian and Raghu, were already at the meal when we arrived there. They had foregone the pleasures of bungee jumping, zip-lining and swinging that the teenaged kids in our party—Kristen, Neil and Carl—had signed up for. While their Mums, Jenny-Lou and Cheri-Anne accompanied them, their husbands sat back to enjoy the treats of the Afternoon Tea table.

            And what a splendid repast it turned out to be! The wonderful colonial ambience is retained in these lost outposts of Empire: three tiered silver-plated cake stands, fine bone china, gleaming silverware, linen napkins—the whole nine yards. We feasted on plain and fruit scones with unlimited strawberry jam and whipped cream (no clotted cream outside Cornwall!), the most delicious cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon rounds, curried chicken and chutney rolls, egg salad crostini—all delicious. And on to the sweets: lemon tarts, apple tarte tatin, chocolate mousse slices, tiny meringues. And unlimited pots of tea! What a lovely time we had as we recounted our respective day to each other—the wild elephant encounter was a big part of our story!

            In about an hour, we were joined by the rest of our party—the kids proudly displaying video tracks of their bungee jumps over the Zambesi Gorge! We were suitably impressed by their prowess. With bills settled, Llew and I took leave of them to return to our room for showers and to get ready for the next item on our program—yet another meal! We were off to a Boma Dinner.

 Traditional African Boma Dinner:

            At 6. 45pm, after showering and dressing semi-formally, we were picked up in a van for the short ride during which we made friends with Ian and Sylvia, two travelers from our home state of Connecticut. They were delighted to meet us as we drove to a Safari Lodge for the Boma Dinner. A Boma is a traditional cast iron pot in which Africans from the Bush cooked their food over wood-burning fires. Every country has such a cultural experience (when we were in Hawai’i, we had attended a traditional Luau Dinner). This one was held in a huge thatched roof tent. At the entrance, we were each draped in a colorful cotton sarong bearing African prints. Paint was applied to our cheeks—two dots for each lady, two stripes for each man. We were led to our table and a tiny amount of a potent local brew, a beer made of maize (corn) was poured for our tasting pleasure. It tasted distinctly like ‘toddy’, a local drink made from tapping coconut palm trees in South India. Llew did not like it at all while I found it barely palatable.    

            Appetizers followed: corn fritters, nimo beans (they tasted like boiled peanuts—very good), boiled sweet potato chunks. Our server instructed us to move to the spit where whole roasted lambs were spread-eagled on the coals—it was very tender and very delicious and served with…guess what? Mint sauce, of course! More examples of the colonial hangover. Over by the salad station, we found a variety of greens and braised and roasted veg with Smoked Crocodile Tail-End taking pride of place. I tasted some of it—and guess what it tasted of…why, chicken of course! Over at the grilling station, we were each presented with a sizzler platter and asked to choose from a wide variety of game meat: warthog steaks, Cape Buffalo steaks, regular sirloin steaks. In terms of ethnic offerings, I made sure I tasted kudu stew (a type of deer-like animal from the Bush) and guinea-fowl stew. But I have to say I had to draw the line at tasting Mopani Worms—these looked like short, fried earthworms coated in a chocolate sauce. Those brave enough to venture to put one into their mouths were awarded a Certificate: “This is to state that So and So ate his first Mopani Worm on So and So date.” I was sorely tempted to taste one just so I could go home with the certificate—but I chickened out. Get it? I chickened out!!!We also tasted Sadza, a type of polenta that is eaten with stewed meats. Everything was delicious, but we were so stuffed by the end of the meal that we had to forego the Desserts Station, much to my disappointment as sweets are my favorite part of a meal! Oh well…you know why they say, “Life’s Too Short. Have Dessert First!” For those interested, there was everything one could desire: trifle (colonial influence intervening again), white chocolate mousse, chocolate gateau, individual caramel custards, apple streudel, bread pudding. Truly, the entire meal was a feast for a king, or a queen. And for a while at least, we were made to feel like royalty.

            As in the case of all such meals, the Boma Dinner was a cultural experience and included much more than a gigantic menu. It was an introduction to the music and dance of Africa and throughout the meal we were regaled by groups of singers and dancers dressed in elaborately colorful clothing playing cymbals, drums and maracas. The show was interactive and the audience was invited to join in. The last part of the meal was a wonderful recital on the drums. Every single one of us was provided with a drum and by following the lead of the main conductor, we were instructed to join in. Finally, the entire group was encouraged to come to the dance floor and show off their moves! Needless to say, the Africans present were the best dancers, They moved with the most marvelous ease on the lightest feet with effortless rhythm. We loved it. Llew was not as shy as I am and when he was pulled on to the floor, he joined in sportingly while I was only prepared to make a fool of myself while there were lots of people on the dance floor with me.

At the end of the evening’s entertainment, we went to the entrance of the restaurant past vendors showing off their lovely carved animals and other wares for the unbelievable prices of one and two dollars for beautifully finished pieces. It was impossible to reconcile the fact that we had paid $20 for an ordinary T-shirt and yet could purchase carved wooden animals for one and two dollars. A short drive in the van that had taken us to the Lodge dropped us back to the hotel where we were extremely grateful to curl up on incredibly comfortable beds and look back on our eventful day. It is amazing how much we managed to cram into a very brief stop at the Victoria Falls and how interesting and different every single one of our activities were. Indeed, the Victoria Falls provided a very interesting introduction to the diversity of Africa and we felt grateful that we were off to such a great start.

So far away were we from the ethos of home that it was only very late in the day that we realized it was July 4 and that our fellow-Americans were celebrating America’s Birthday Back Home!

Until tomorrow, cheerio!

Hello Zimbabwe, Hiya Zambesi–and a Sunset Cruise on the River

Jul4

Getting to Know Zimbabwe… and the Zambesi River
 
Friday, July 3, 2015: London-Johannesburg-Victoria Falls

            We arrived at Heathrow at 6.30 pm well in time to retrieve my strolley from the Left Luggage Lockers and make our way directly to the gate for our onward flight to Johannesburg. Remember our bags had been in storage at Heathrow for about 12 hours while we were in transit in London. This fact becomes significant when I tell you what I found when I arrived in my hotel at the Victoria Falls…but I am digressing.

            Our red eye flight—the second one in 24 hours was another piece of cake—because it too was half full. This meant that both Llew and I stretched out on 4-seater
centre aisle seats for yet another night and sustained another great night’s sleep. We truly did luck out for we received the advantage of first class tickets at economy prices–but on just one leg of an endless flight but on both!!!

            Our flight took us straight down the backbone of the continent of Africa (as evidenced by the mapped in-flight plan) from Algeria to South Africa. On approach into Johannesburg, we noticed how brown and arid the landscape is. It is hard to imagine how life can be possibly be sustained in such a hostile environment.

            Landing in Johannesburg, we only had enough time to clear South African Immigration and make our way to the check-in counter for our connecting flight to the town of Victoria Falls which lies across the border in Zimbabwe. Boarding had just begun when we reached the Gate to a fine reunion with our friends—the Seqeuiras and the Nathans with their kids, who had arrived from the States on other flights. Within twenty minutes, we were all seated in a much smaller British Airways aircraft that was filled to capacity with tourists heading to see one of the continent’s most spectacular sights—and one of the world’s seven natural wonders. A very light lunch consisting of chicken curry on rice was served in the plane and within 90 minutes, we were touching down. Again, the sheer aridity of the landscape with its very low shrubbery (rather Texan in appearance) struck me.

            Immigration clearance in Zimbabwe took absolutely ages—we were actually the very last party to receive our visas at the airport for the charge of US $30 each. It was an opportunity, however, to catch up with our friends and as we gabbed our way to the front of the line, we realized that in exactly half an hour, we were to be picked up at our hotel for the first activity on our agenda—the Sunset Cruise on the Zambesi River. That’s when we hit Panic Mode and hoped the line would speed up. No such luck!

            When the representative from Shearwater, the agency that has a monopoly in Zimbabwe over all tourism services, eventually got to us, he told us we had exactly five minutes to drop our baggage off at our hotel and return to his van for the ride to the banks of the river at the start of our Sunset Cruise. So we instantly had to perish the thought of any fancy dressing up for our cruise. Forget about fancy dressing up! After 48 hours of flying around the world, we were not so much as afforded the luxury of a shower! Nor did we enjoy the delicious peppermint-scented cool towels that were handed to us upon arrival at the Reception Desk or the welcome glass of lemonade! We just grabbed the keys to our room from the polite receptionists and were off.

            Our room was just gorgeous—in a hotel that is the last word in colonial luxury. The Victoria Falls Hotel sports an impeccably decorated lobby with colonial touches everywhere. Animals head skeletons, loads of framed antlers, prints of African vegetation, drapes that reflect the quiet colors of the African Bush (shades of ochre, beige, hunter green, grey), and a grand piano added to the ambience of classic comfort. Our beds were draped with filmy mosquito nets and all the furniture in our rooms was made of solid teak. Although named for King George V’s Grandmother Queen Victoria, this female monarch never set foot in Africa—in fact, if memory serves me right, she did not venture beyond Germany. It was left to her grandson, King George V and his consort Queen Mary to have the honor of being the first British monarchs to set foot in their colonies in Africa (en route to India for the famous Delhi Darbar in 1911). Hence, the hotel’s lobby is adorned with portraits of these two monarchs and I made sure to take pictures with them!  
Although we did not have the time to survey our hotel, we were told that it faced the Falls and that we could actually see the mist from the terrace. We would need to wait until the next morning to ascertain these facts.

            But we had little time to appreciate any of the hotel’s apparent luxury. We merely snatched up coats from our bags–and that was when I had the shock of my life. For my bag had been opened and every single item in it had been carefully turned over with the idea of stealing something valuable. Where this could have occurred is anyone’s guess, whether in London or in Johannesburg–but my belongings had been gone through with a fine comb–and the one item that I realized immediately was missing was my British cell phone! The fact that it was just this item taken convinced me that there was nothing accidental about its disappearance and that my bag had been hastily sifted through with the idea of theft! Luckily, my British cell phone is ancient, battered even partially broken and has a top-up SIM card that had long expired. There was no reason for me to fear that it would cause me any financial loss. 
 
Spectacular Sunset Cruise on the Zambesi River: 

      Absolutely down-hearted, I ran back to the bus and in fifteen minutes, we were dropped off at the river banks at the start of our cruise. The triple decker craft (of which we had tickets for the Signature Deck) stood splendidly in the water. It was 4.00 pm. Sunset here in the Southern Hemisphere in winter occurs at about 5. 30pm. This left us about an hour and a half to cruise the river keeping our eyes peeled for animals.

Initially, we did not have much luck—but then we began to spot herds of hippo wallowing in the river. They bobbed about like dark brown islands and occasionally raised their heads obligingly so that we could click pictures. Next, close to the river bank, we saw a crocodile and, at the very end of our cruise, we spied a couple of giraffes in the distance. Were we disappointed by the sparseness of animal life? I could say we were. But then a number of things made up for our disappointment. For one thing, service was impeccable on the Signature Deck. Drinks were included in the price we had paid (about $40 per head). We settled down with wines, beers, shandy and mojitos for which the bartender is apparently reputed. Meanwhile, the passed hors d’oeuvres kept coming, each more delicious than the other and each presented with the utmost style and elegance: skewered tandoor chicken, vegetable kebabs that included paneer shashlik, beef carpaccio on crostini, smoked salmon with capers on crostini, tiny cups of leek and potato soup (vichyssoise) served cold, sushi with pickled ginger, wasabi and soy sauce, and the piece de resistance, crocodile kebabs—indeed if no one had told us that the meat we were tasting was crocodile, I would have sworn it was chicken although the texture was slightly different. It was beautifully prepared with a tangy marinade. Who could have thought croc could taste so good?

The Sunset cruise was also good because the course the vessel took traversed four African nations that meet in a confluence at this point in on the River Zambesi: Zimbabwe, Zambia, Bostwana and Namibia. The hostess explained that as long as we remained on the boat, we would be considered legal in all four countries: the moment we decided to take a swim by jumping into the water, we would become illegal visitors who’d need to be fished out and deported! Good to know!
            Meanwhile, the sun kept sinking lower over the horizon—it was, after all, a sunset cruise and we were witness to the brilliant palette of colors that stain the continent of Africa as each day ends: vivid pinks, burnt oranges, fiery reds—managed to silhouette the sparse trees in black outlines. It was such a relaxing experience to cruise along in such quiet style on the Zambesi as we learned so many facts about the river and the delicate eco-system it manages to sustain. Indeed after the long flights we had taken across the world, it was a wonderfully fitting finale and we felt deeply satisfied. For many of us who have taken similar cruises on the Backwaters of Kerala, we saw a great similarity with the cruise that had just ended.

            By the time the sun disappeared over the horizon and darkness fell over Zimbabwe, we were ready to call it a night ourselves. Our meal had included cocktail snacks and drinks but the servings were so substantial that none of us had any room for dinner.

            Back in our hotel, we surveyed the buffet offerings in the adjoining restaurant and returned to our rooms for much-needed showers, the softness of extraordinarily comfortable beds and the romance of snuggling down under gauzy nets. I spent a while blogging, then made myself a decaff coffee before calling it a night.

Our African idyll was only just beginning…

Until tomorrow, cheerio.

A Bonus Central London Layover–and How We Used It!

Jul3

Strolling Through Central London–From Piccadilly to South Kensington.

            Going on a safari to Africa was on Llew’s Bucket List and after years of talking about it and planning, we were off and away in the company of some of our closest friends. It was an adventure that we anticipated with feverish excitement.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015: New York-London

            Thanks to out attempts to juggle air routes with the idea of gaining the most reasonably-priced fares, we flew out on Virgin Atlantic Airlines out of Kennedy airport at 9. 30 pm after going the usual convoluted route by taxi to the Metro-North train station and NYC Airporter Bus to Kennedy. We gave ourselves ample time and arrived, san stress, on schedule. A smooth check-in ensured that we were in our seats on time. But for the fact that the traffic assistant informed us incorrectly that our flight was indefinitely delayed (which was a false alarm), all went well. We ate a fairly decent dinner at 8.00 pm at Wild Buffalo Wings—a sampler that included said wings plus onion rings, mozzarella sticks and loaded nachos—a true greasy spoon standard! Not surprisingly, we barely hit our seats to discover that the flight was 50%  light. As soon as the Fasten Seatbelts signs were switched off, we raced to the back of the aircraft to bag the four-seater middle aisle seats and with Llew claiming one such set and me the other, we slept horizontally all night long.

 Thursday, July 2, 2015: London:

            It was not surprising, therefore, that we arrived at London’s Heathrow airport at 9. 30 am fresh as daisies after a picture perfect entry into the city. For our aircraft flew directly over Central London which allowed me to snap pictures of some of its most note-worthy structures from the Millennium Dome at Greenwich to The London Eye, from the Gherkin to the Houses of Parliament! I could not have been happier! Indeed flying over London is an experience I never tire of and each time I manage to see the city in a new light—again literally for I have arrived at various times of day and night.

We cleared Immigration and Baggage Claim by 10.45, made our way to the Piccadilly Line Tube station, spent a while getting our Oyster Cards topped up and then we were off. In an hour, we were at Green Park and, on cue, crossed Piccadilly to get to Fortnum and Mason, the gourmet specialty food store where we had made plans to meet our friend Bash at 11. 30. It was 12 noon exactly by the time we arrived inside the plush store that was in the midst of its 50% summer sale—Bash turned up a good 20 minutes later by which time I had sussed the joint to find that despite the sale, prices were still not too attractive. Perhaps by the time we return to London, they will be slashed some more and we shall be the proud possessors of bargains.

            A wonderful reunion with Bash followed a decision to leave the store and walk into full glorious sunshine on a day when the temperature was simply perfect. London had been reeling under  a massive heat wave which, thankfully, had abated by the time we arrived. We could not have asked for more perfect walking weather—and so we decided to take a walking tour of the area from say Piccadilly to Kensington. Llew was returning to London for an extended stay after a long while. He was happy and excited to be in the midst of back cabs and red double deckers and his energy seemed boundless—having slept the entire night away on a red eye flight was a huge bonus.

A Walking Tour of Central London:

            This past January, on a short trip to London, I had managed to pick up a reprinted edition of a classic London architectural guide by Ian Nairn called Nairn’s London. Nairn’s is considered the last word on London’s structures and with his observant eye and wicked sense of humor, he brings whole new nuances to one’s perceptions of T’Smoke’s well-loved buildings. So, it was with eagerness that I asked my companions, Llew and Bash, if they were up for an architectural walking tour of this small pocket of London that goes from Piccadilly Circus to South Kensington’s Little France—and hooray, they were also eager beavers!

Skirting the Royal Academy of Art:

We started off across the street at the Royal Academy of Art where a large installation filled the main courtyard. Entitled Inflated Star and Wooden Star, it is a massive piece of aluminum and teakwood by one of the most important contemporary American sculptors, Frank Stella. We encircled it, took a few pictures by the sculpture of Lord Burlington in whose grand private London home the Royal Academy of founded and is based.


Special Exhibition on Magna Carta:    

            We were then invited to a special exhibition held by the Royal Society of Antiquarians on the 800thbirthday of Magna Carta—one of the most important and significant documents in the world and the father of all legal writs. Inside, is a very solemn room that is filled with Plantaganet and Tudor portraits as well as furniture occupied by the office bearers of the Royal Academy at their meetings. We watched a short 7 minute film, then adjourned to the adjoining room to actually inspect the three copies of Magna Carta that were derived from the original. They were all very interesting to see and we were thrilled to be part of the exciting document that has continued to make its mark since 1215 when the barons forced King John to sign the agreement that limited his powers and made him accountable at Runnymede. We spent about half an hour there and then stepped next door.

The Burlington Arcade and the Piccadilly Arcade:

It always amazes me that sometimes people spend their entire lives in a fascinating city and know so little about its history or architecture—because we tend to take for granted those very aspects of our own environment that tourists flock from all over the world to see. This was the case with Bash who has been a Londoner all his life but had never entered or seen London’s famous arcades. There are three and they are all clustered in Piccadilly—the third is the Royal Arcade. These ‘arcades’ are covered corridors lined with upscale shops offering enticing and expensive merchandise in an atmosphere of quiet class. They were constructed in the 18th centuries when London’s ladies, flush with cash earned by their hard-working fathers or husbands, came out unabashedly to spend it. Shopping then was a social activity and the ladies wore their finest clothing to parade in these arcades as they inspected the goods, regardless of the vagaries of the weather—for they came to see and be seen. Today, the two arcades that are bang across Piccadilly from one another can be admired for their interesting architectural features, their beautiful tall bow fronted glass windows and the stained glass domed ceilings that let in abundant light no matter the weather.


A Quick Prowl Through Green Park:

            Our next port of call was Green Park just across the street—on a day that was so glorious and with lunch time tummies beckoning, it was not surprising that scores of Londoners had left their offices to lounge on the famed green striped easy chairs on the grass as they munched their cheddar and Branston pickle sandwiches! We walked a little in the park before crossing the street again to get into Half Moon Street:

Shepherd’s Market—a Little London Village Gem:

            Half Moon Street leads to the Third Church of Christ Scientist, a beautiful Neo-Classical structure at the junction of picturesquely named Half Moon Street and Curzon Street. It is here that the stroller will find an arch—you always feel the need to bend your head to enter the alley created by the arch. Over on the other side of it, you are in a part of London that is seeing better days after having served, during the 18thcentury, as the haunt of the ladies of the night. Today, it is hub of pubs, restaurants and specialty food stores so attractive that they are filled with office-goers tucking into pie and mash or pizza. We were hungry just watching them enjoy their food and began to think seriously about getting a bite ourselves as it was past 1.00 pm by the time.

 On to Hyde Park Corner and Apsley House:

            But, we decided to press on and make Knightsbridge the stop for a well-deserved lunch break. And so we returned to Piccadilly and the stop where it meets the Hard Rock Café—where Wellington’s Arch and the home that he was gifted by a grateful nation, simply known as No. 1 London aka Apsley House today stands. We did appreciate the fine architectural lines of these structures, aided and abetted by Ian Nairn, and then continued on briskly towards Harrods.

Lunch at EAT at Knightsbridge:

            Passing by the gates of Hyde Park, we arrived at “Harvey Nicks”, as the department store of Harvey Nichols is known colloquially and then there we were staring the grand Edwardian structure of Harrodsin the face. The idea was to survey the merchandise on sale—but with too many tummies rumbling, lunch became the main priority. We crossed the street and settled down to hearty comfort food—chicken and mushroom pie with mash and gravy for the guys and a delicious sweet potato and chilli soup for me—flavorful and very inexpensive.

Hitting Harrods:

Well boosted by our meal, we entered Harrods,always a joy no matter the time of year. Alas, there were no bargains to be had despite the summer sale—at least not the kind I wanted. After spending about a half hour there and using the restrooms, we made our way out and resolved to return on the second leg of our stay in London, two weeks from now.


Tea at Little Paris at “South Ken”:

            All that was left then, since we still had two whole hours to kill before we needed to board a Tube to get back to Heathrow, was to stroll idly towards Albertopolis—as the region that accommodates some of London’s most-famous museums is known—thanks to Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s consort, who devised and created it. With the Alexander McQueen exhibition entitled ‘Savage Beauty’ going on in full swing at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Llew (who had missed it in New York, unlike moi), decided to see it upon our return in two weeks’ time.

            We then headed towards the Tube station which is known as Little Paris at South Kensington or South Ken as this area is known—because this is where London’s tres chic expatriate French population has congregated. We passed by a number of coffee shops and tea rooms all churning out a mouthwatering array of French patisserieand since we urgently needed to rest our feet after our long wander, we settled down at Le Pain Quotidien and ordered a pot of tea for the chaps, hot chocolate for me, together with almond croissants and a chocolate tart that was simply scrumptious. All the time, we had the chance to catch up with Bash and to take in all the news about the recent goings-on in his life. We will be spending the day with him again very soon and as we sipped our tea and munched our goodies, we were able to observe the beautiful people pass by on the street their hands filled with iced tea or cups of gelato—for London’s summer is brief and its delights are grabbed with both hands—literally!

 Return to Heathrow:

            Bash got into the Tube with us by 6.00 pm and exactly an hour later, about 20 minutes after he hopped off at his stop, we arrived at Heathrow’s Terminal 3–where I retrieved the strolley back pack that I had stored in the Left Luggage Locker in the morning (10 pounds for 1 item for the first 5 hours) and then we were off to our gate to look for our onward flight to Johannesburg.

            Our day in London had been ‘brilliant’ to use a common British-ism! We felt that we had made the most of it—we had enjoyed its architecture and its history, partaken of its gastronomic offerings, caught up with a dear friend, and, in the process, prepared ourselves for the next lap of our holiday.

            Once again, we lucked out for when we boarded our flight from Heathrow to Johannesburg in South Africa, we found it also half full. This allowed us to stretch once again on 4-seaters and spend the night away horizontal and able to fully enjoy a good night’s sleep. When dinner was done, we dimmed lights (I had finished watching Gone Girl on the in-flight screen) and then we were out like a light.
 
       Tomorrow, I shall be reporting from Africa– do stand by for my next bulletin! Until then, cheerio!
 
 

Last Day in Rio: Bits and Bobs of Sightseeing Accomplished.

Jun19

    

Monday, June 15, 2015
Last Bits and Bobs of Rio Sightseeing Accomplished!

            I awoke on my last full day in Rio and took stock of my fridge—I needed to finish all my food supplies before I left my apartment at 6 pm for the taxi ride to the airport for my flight home. Yes, Siree Bob –all good things must come to an end and I had made use of every available moment in the Marvelous City and felt ready to get back home. Brekkie was all the bits and bobs I could rustle up including muesli with milk, croissant sandwiches (some of which I packed up for lunch and then early dinner as I would not be airborne till 10.00 pm).

            I spent the next hour packing, cleaning up my apartment and getting the garbage ready for disposal. I wanted to leave the place as pristine as it had been given me. Only when I felt all set to return to my apartment and leave immediately for the airport, did I shower, change and get out for the last time to see those parts of the city that I had not yet covered.

 Off to the Metropolitan Cathedral:

The first item on my agenda was the Metropolitan Cathedral of Rio, an unmistakable conical building that I could see from a distance every time I walked through the neighborhood. When I did get there, about 15 minutes later, I found a lot of people sprinkled around the pews in prayer. The Cathedral is a magnificent modern prayerful space that has no supporting pillars within. Four huge stained glass windows run from floor to the ceiling. They sport contemporary designs in keeping with the general design of the church. Each is in a dominant color: red, yellow, blue, green. The overall design is quite ingenious as it seats 5,000 people with standing room for 20,000! The catehdraor Cardinal’s Chair is very prominent in the front. Although I am not usually fond of modern churches, I thought this one was pretty special.

 The Presbyterian Church of Rio:

            On my way towards Cinelandia Square, which was the next item on my agenda—all within easy walking distance from where I lived—I passed by another striking Gothic-style church. It turned out to the Presbyterian Church of Rio and it had a wonderful sculpture in the front featuring the Brazilian priest who introduced the Presbyterian denomination to the country. I stepped inside briefly to take in the interior design which reminded me of most American Congregational churches. It is wonderful how in these spiritual places one can really turn off the bustle of the city and find quiet solace.

 Circumnavigating Cinelandia Square:

Within five minutes of leaving the church, I was in the lovely environs of Cinelandia Square—so-called because it is surrounded by cinema houses and in the 1930s became the center of movie-going in Rio. A few of the theaters that encircle the square still screen films. Dominated by the equestrian statue of Dom Pedro I, the monument in the center of the square reminded me very much of the Albert Memorial in Hyde Park, London, especially because it was flanked by four sculptures each of which represented a different South American river. Those sculptures are spectacular being surrounded, as they are, by native indigenous people of the rain forest. Other than taking pictures, however, there was not much to do. Besides the square was filled with Rio’s homeless and other dodgy sorts and I did not feel like lingering too long in those surroundings.

Inside the Real Gabinete Portugual de Leiture:

            My next port of call, also just five minutes away, up Avenida Passos, was the original Portuguese colonial library that was built in the ornate Manueline style in 1837. But en route to finding it, I passed by yet another church—by this time, I have to say that although I visited each of them, I found it hard to remember their names and the features that made them distinctive. In downtown Rio, there is literally a church every two blocks. Indeed each starts merging into the other but for anyone looking for places to pause in prayer, there is no dearth in Rio.

            The library which was just one street away on Rua Luis Camoes is grand from the outside and quite simply spectacular within. I noticed several other foreign visitors making a beeline for the space for indeed it is one of Rio’s hidden gems and I was mighty glad I had read several guidebooks that recommended a visit. Inside, I found myself entering a vast Gothic-style hall that reminded me immediately of the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York. In this cavernous room, there are over 150,000 antique, leather-bound books, paintings, sculpture and quite the largest wrought-iron chandelier I have ever seen. This can dip down all the way to the floor so that candles could be fitted into it and lighted and then the entire contraption is raised up to the ceiling to illuminate the space. Needless to say, in this day and age, fire of any sort is not allowed in the building which is fully electrified. Just to walk around the space and take in the two-tiered splendor of the library made my morning seem well spent. I would heartily urge every visitor to Rio not to miss this architectural gem. As it is still a working library for scholars doing historic study, it was nice to see readers pouring over manuscripts. Among its many treasures is a first edition of Portuguese poet Luis Camoes’ O Lusidas—which I had also seen in Portugal.

 The Church of St. Francis of Paula:

               My next visit was to yet another church—the Church of St. Francis of Paula which wears its age quite visibly on its sleeve—it is old and grey and faded, both inside and out. I was pleased to find it open as on another morning I had passed by and found its doors firmly shut. Here too the square surrounding the church is filled with seedy characters whiling away their time. In many ways, I was reminded of Bombay as I passed through these rubbish-lined streets.

 A Brief Visit to Casa Cave:

            A walk down one of the nearby lanes called Rue de Ouvidor then brought me, quite by chance, to another confectionary and coffee shop that had been written up in my guidebook: the Casa Cave. This chic French patisserie has been a Rio institution for centuries and after a recent thorough refurbishment looks spanking new. Inside, there were patrons flush with cash, sipping their coffee and savoring pastries and cakes. I would, no doubt, have enjoyed one such treat had I not been so stuffed after my fairly recent breakfast. So I regretfully toured the inside casually and moved on.

 The Convent of St. Anthony and St. Francis of Penetencia:

            My very last bits of sightseeing included two old and very beautiful churches perched high on a high overlooking the Carioca Metro station and it was there that I next headed. The Convent of St. Anthony is one of the oldest churches in Rio—it dates from the 1500s and the present church was built between 1506-1511. You take an elevator to the top if you do not wish to climb the winding hillside route that gets you to the church entrance. Inside, I found that Mass was in progress and that the church was fairly full. I did not linger long inside the church but did take the elevator to get down to the floor level again. Outside, I made a sharp left turn with the intention of seeing the Church of St. Francis, but als, it is closed on Mondays and I could not get inside.

 Off to Ipanema for the Last Time:

            It was about this time that the first drops of rain hit my head. I was grateful, therefore, to escape into the Underground train and ride it all the way to Ipanema with the idea of going in search of souvenir flipflops for a few close folks. But in the half hour that it took me to reach there, the heavens had opened big time and the drizzle had developed into a steady downpour. The temperature also fell dramatically and it turned quite chilly.

            Not having an umbrella with me, I had little choice but to brave the raindrops and off I went determinedly looking for the shop called Hawaianas. It was not long before I selected several pairs of slipflops which are mandatory beach gear on the sands of Rio—those together with the skimpiest bikinis and sarongs are the customary wear and I was happy to pick up some really colorful pairs for only a few dollars.

            With my goodies tucked in a bag, I passed by the snazzy stores of Ipanema and made my way to the metro station for the return ride home. I might have stayed longer but the rain put all such plans at bay. Half an hour later, I was home, eating a sandwich lunch, almost finishing up the last of my ice-cream and getting my bags organized for departure. I managed to do a good bit of reading while waiting for Rosana who was scheduled to arrive at 6.00 pm to put me in a cab, take ahold of her keys and say goodbye to me.

 Leaving Rio de Janeiro:

            Promptly at 6.00 pm, my doorbell rang and despite the rain (which would have made the finding of a cab challenging), Rosana arrived and put me into a waiting vehicle. Our goodbye was swift as the rain put paid to any lingering. I handed over the key to the place that had been my home for about a week and in the pouring rain, I thanked her for her enormous hospitality and left the city of Rio behind me to take the highway to the Galeao airport.

            Traffic was awful since it was rush hour, but in a little more than an hour, I was safely deposited at the airport and went in search of my flight. There is little of interest to tell about another routine flight. Dinner was served, I watched a truly fabulous film called The Changeling featuring Angelina Jolie and began another—but then I fell asleep for a good four hours and by the time we were hovering over US soil, it was time for breakfast and disembarkation.

 Concluding Remarks about Rio:

            Rio de Janeiro was every bit as pretty as I had been led to expect. It was predictable—a BRIC nation, like India, poised for progress—but it was also full of surprises. I felt that I did get to know it intimately if briefly and my living like the local Cariocas had a lot to do with it. In commuting like they do, in buses and on the Metro, in frequenting the locales that they do (the beaches, the busy commercial streets, the historic coffee shops and bakeries), I had experienced their daily routine. In poking into their churches, museums, restaurants and gardens, I received a very good idea of how they lived. I had tasted traditional Brazilian food and cocktails, lived in a typical Rio apartment building with local residents (instead of in an antiseptic hotel), I had rustled up simple meals in my own little space (which made me feel quite like a resident). I had spent time with local friends who enlightened me constantly on their lifestyle, customs and ways of life. In using every second as productively as possible, I notched up dozens of miles on my pedometer—yes, I walked an average of 6 and a half miles every day with my record on a single day being 7 and a half miles! Yes, in the final analysis, I came away from Rio as much more than a visitor.

            For a little while at least I did feel truly like a Carioca. And for that opportunity I am truly grateful.

            Many thanks for following me on this journey as an armchair traveler. It is because you have always been a faithful follower of my blog posts that I feel motivated to continue to write them. For the moment, I say Ciao…

            May the road always rise up to meet you…                           

    

Sunday Mass in a Monastery and Hitting the Museum Mile

Jun19

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Mass in a 16th Century Monastery, Hitting the Museums and Dinner with Friends

            My new Polish friend Prof. Anna Sobolewska was supposed to accompany me to Sunday Mass at 10.00 am at the 16th century Monastery of Saint Benedict (Monaesterio de Sao Bento) and I was delighted at the thought of her company. But by 8.00 am, she texted me to say that she had to cancel her plans as her flight was pre-poned and she had not yet packed for departure. This left me to shower and eat a gargantuan breakfast with the intention of finishing the bits and bobs in my fridge: cereal with milk, passionfruit yogurt, ham and blue cheese croissant, papaya, coffee—all while incomprehensible Portuguese TV was on! Then I took the metro to Urugiana Metro station from where I used my Rio city map to find my way to the Monastery.

            The area was absolutely deserted at 9. 30 am—good job I found out in my guidebook only later that it is ill-advised to wander the downtown area at the weekends when it is empty as all sorts of vagrants hang around there and they can be dangerous! Although by this point in my stay in Rio, I had become accustomed to watching my back (literally), I still ought not to have gone in search of such a remote church on my own. But search for it I did! And it was really hard to find—being perched high on a hill with a winding route I had to climb.

 Mass at the Monasterio de Sao Bento:

            And the reason I chose to hear Sunday morning Mass at such a remote church was because it was held in an old Benedictine monastery that is still a working habitat for monks. They monks sing the Mass at 10.00 am on Sundays using the Gregorian chant. Since I get to hear this beloved ecclesiastical music only rarely, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. So there I was! When I finally found the place, I was amazed at the plain, unadorned exterior of the church that looked like a largeish house. However, although it was still only 9. 50 and Mass wasn’t going to start for another 10 minutes, I entered the huge, grand Church doors only to discover that it was packed to the gills with standing room only!

            And what a church it turned out to be! If there was only one church I would choose to see in Rio, it would be this one. It was simply Over The Top exuberant. It is the finest example of Brazilian Baroque in Rio, and you would be well-advised to take along your sunglasses as there are countless kilos of gold all over the church. Every single inch of it is strung with carved wooden decoration in the Baroque mode (faintly reminiscent of my favorite 16th century English wood carver Sir Grinling Gibbons) that is then completely covered with gold leaf. A few minutes later, Mass began. I had found a corner in which to stand peacefully and to observe the Eucharistic celebration and I had a sheet of paper with the day’s liturgy in Portuguese but which I could easily follow.

A con-celebrated Mass, it had all the trappings of grandeur—a bevy of impressive-vestmented priests, a long procession of monks wearing their traditional Benedictine brown robes, lots of incense floating about the church and rising up to the gilded altar constructed in the Portuguese tiers with which I was, by then, completely familiar. I love the drama of the Eucharist in such opulent surroundings with music (yes, those stirring Gregorian chants were profoundly atmospheric); but what is heartening when one travels outside the US is how vigorous congregation response is. The thousands who filled the church were fervent, devout, loud in their responses, attentive to the proceedings—in every respect, they were active participants and where the hymns were common ones in Portuguese, they sang lustily. Just before Mass ended, I crept into the Blessed Sacrament Altar which is the holiest and most ornate part of this church—ever single inch in this chapel is covered in pure gold! The church is being lovingly refurbished and although it dates from 1590 when it was first founded, you would think it was built yesterday—so fresh and stunning is the interior.  I loved every second of it and was gratified that I took the risk to seek and find this church despite the presumed dangers. Here is a link to the church website for anyone interested:

http://www.osb.org.br/mosteiro/index.php

 Marching Off to Museums:

            It was time to hit the Museum Mile—Rio has several and had I more time, I would, no doubt, have seen them all. But I had to make choices and every guidebook had extolled the virtues of two: the Museum of Fine Arts and the Museum of National History—so those were the ones I chose. As luck would have it, entry to both museums is free on Sundays. Although I expected them to be mobbed, I decided to go on a Sunday anyway.

 Popping into Candelaria Church:  

It was about a fifteen minute walk from the Monastery through the heart of Centro (downtown Rio) to the Museum of Fine Arts—at which point I passed by and briefly entered the Church of Candelaria—Igrejia de Candelaria. This church reminds one immediately of the Pantheon in Paris or St. Paul’s Cathedral in London on the Berliner Dom in Berlin—like all of them, it has a gigantic dome and twin spires in the front—very different from most of the churches in Rio that are built in the Portuguese vein, this one is very imposingly Neo-Classical. Inside, there are paintings, stained glass windows, an ornate carved pulpit, towering Greek-style Doric pillars, cupolas and interior domes—all very moving indeed. Lots of tour buses lined the square and the presence of al lot of folks meant that the church was between Masses. Here is the website: http://mapadecultura.rj.gov.br/manchete/igreja-da-candelaria


Viewing the Municipal Theater:

            I arrived at the lovely Neo-Classical building of the Museum of Fine Arts at 11. 50 and discovered that there was one woman waiting at the entrance. Turned out on Sundays, the Museum does not open until 12 noon. That gave me 10 minutes to survey the lovely area outside the museum which comprises a beautifully-designed square over which the Municipal Theater (Theatro Municipal) dominates. This beautiful building was constructed in 1909 in imitation of Paris’ Opera Garnier as a part of the area to be known as Cinelandia—a space devoted to the Arts and Culture. Like the Opera Garnier in Paris, it presents a different scene from each changing perspective. From the outside itself, I could see how well Baroque influence had been translated into its design. It has a massive gilded ornament on the towering cupola, Greek pillars, heavy wrought-iron gates and walls covered with paintings. Guided tours are offered during the week but alas, none on Sunday. Hence, I missed the opportunity to peek into one of the most elaborate interiors in Rio. Operas and other musical compositions continue to be presented here and some of the world’s best-known performers have graced its stage. After taking many pictures from varied angles, I returned to the Museum. Here is their website: http://www.theatromunicipal.rj.gov.br/

 Off to the Museum of Fine Arts:

            Finally, at 12 noon, I was given a free ticket to enter the Museum of Fine Arts and for the next one and a half hour, by focusing on the main highlights contained within, I acquired a very comprehensive idea of the collection. It is the pride and joy of Rio and while it is small by international standards, it contains a very heartening clutch of works by artists of which I had never heard but who are stars in the Brazilian cultural firmament. Among the most stirring works I saw were:

1.      The Sculpture Gallery which contains casts of some of the world’s best-known sculptural works such as the Laocoon(from the Vatican), the Winged Victory of Samotrace (from the Louvre) and Michaelangelo’s Prisoner (from the Academia in Venice). Each of these was a joy to revisit.

2.      Victor Meirelles: The First Mass in Brazil, painted in 1861 it is an imagined replica of Jesuit priests saying their first Mass upon landing on Brazilian shores soon after the colonial discovery of the country.     

3.      Victor Meirelles: The Battle of Guararappes. A huge floor-to-ceiling canvas that has a touching self-portrait of the artist embedded in it seen wearing a cap with the figure 33 on it.

4.      Pedro America: The Battle of Avai. It is supposed to be the largest canvas ever painted on an easel. It covers floor to ceiling of a very large gallery and is deeply impressive.

5.      Almeida’s Arrufos (The Tiff): Not a relative, this 19th century artist depicts a married couple that is in disagreement. The exaggerated emotion of the Victorian Age is very amusingly depicted.

There was a great deal of Modern Art as well, but I very quickly went through it all as I wished to focus on the work of Brazil’s best-known creators. It was a wonderful opportunity to discover the richness of the country’s artistic tradition but also to discover that despite the fact that the museum is free on Sundays, I was one of no more than 20 people in the entire building. In fact, the guards outnumbered the patrons!  Such a pity! 

Exploring The National History Museum:

It was time then to move on to the National History Museum—by this time it was 1. 30 and I was glad for the sandwiches in my bag as not a single restaurant is open. Brazilians take Sunday rest very seriously, it appears and since the Museum of Fine Arts has no café, I might have gone hungry had I not carried food (This is the reason why I always make sure I have snacks like nuts and protein bars with a bottle of water in my bag when I travel for I never want to be caught hungry and lacking energy).

Same story as I attempted to find this museum. Every street was deserted. Although this is the very center of the city, the fact that it is highly commercial and surrounded by business high rise buildings means that there is no one around on Sundays. Following my map, I found it tucked away in a hidden corner and since it only opened at 2. 00 pm on Sundays, I had a 5-minute wait before I was let in with about 10 other people.  

But what a brilliant museum it is! From the minute you enter the fort-like building—a beautifully well-preserved relic of Brazil’s colonial past, you are swept into a history of the country that is chronologically presented with the greatest variety of displays. At the end of the day what I discovered about Brazilian history in under two hours was just astounding. There are basically three phrases to it: the Pre-Colonial Period with emphasis on Brazil’s indigenous people (there were a lot of anthropological artifacts here); the Colonial Period (this was the most extensive as it contained a great amount of detail on the Portuguese discovery and colonization of Brazil, the moving of the capital from Lisbon to Rio by Dom Pedro II to escape Napoleon’s takeover of Europe, the construction of the grand city of Rio in imitation of Baron Hausmann’s Paris. This portion included the sad history of slavery in Brazil for the Portuguese brought in slaves from Africa and, as everywhere in the world, treated them in horrendous fashion. Finally, there were extensive galleries on Post-Colonial Brazil (the country became independent in 1822 although slavery continued until 1833).  Through paintings, dioramas, sculpture, china, glass, pottery, metal objects, jewelry, costume and clothing, one could see the entire drama of Brazilian history unfold—and it was terrific. I found myself fully absorbed and dearly wished to have had more time and energy to linger.

But, as can be imagined, by then I was well and truly wilting and had only one goal in mind—to get back to my apartment for an urgent lie-down. I found the Metro station after a long uphill trudge and when I was in the darkened cool interior of my room, I made myself a substantial snack of fruit and yogurt and then fell upon my bed exhausted and had a long nap. When I awoke, about an hour later, it was time for me to dress and go out to dinner with my friends—and I looked forward to the interaction as, being alone, I had not spoken to a soul all day!

 Drinks at Home and then Pizza Dinner with Friends in Santa Teresa:

            When I was ready, I climbed the hill and in five minutes was in the terrace apartment of my friend Rosana and her partner Andrew. They had invited me for drinks in their home and before long, we were joined by Renata, another Professor friend of theirs. Rosana then elected to make us caprinhas—but this time with a twist. She used fresh passionfruit–pulp and juice of this extremely flavorful fruit–mixed it with cashaca and voila! With ice clinking in the glass, it made for a very refreshing drink as we nibbled on olives, cheese and nuts.

About an hour later, we left the apartment to go out in search of dinner—they suggested we take a taxi to the hills of Santa Teresa and within a few minutes, we hailed one and were in Guimares Square where I had been a couple of nights previously. In a lovely outdoor patio of a restaurant called Cafecito whose courtyard and architecture was very reminiscent of Goa or Bungalow 9 in Bombay, we had a delicious Pizza Margarita and one with flash-fried shrimp that was simply outstanding. What a great group we were—in deference to me, the conversation was entirely in English and I was struck by the unspoken agreement to which they came as they considerately wished to include me in it. It is this sort of sensitivity to the foreigner that I find particularly heartening when I am traveling and I did appreciate the effort that my friends made on my behalf.

Soon it was time to say goodbye and walking down Guimares, we found a taxi before long. Renata, who lives in Ipanema, jumped into it and dropped me off, three minutes later, at my building. All that was left then was to check my email (yes, I finally did have internet connectivity in my apartment!) and get ready for bed.

Until tomorrow, ciao!     

    

Brazilian Churrascaria, Discovering Centro and Meeting an Old Friend

Jun18

 

Saturday, June 13, 2-15
Brazilian Churrascaria at Conference Banquet, Discovering Centro and Ipanema Again

            Saturday morning saw me consume a heavy breakfast of fruit, croissants stuffed with blue cheese and ham, coffee and passionfruit yogurt. I showered, dressed and off I went back to the Windsor Florida Hotel to attend the penultimate session of the day—a panel featuring economic development in Kerala, India, and another by Prof. Ashok Malhotra of SUNY, Oneonta, that interested me immensely. They were just as absorbing as I expected them to be and I felt fully gratified about having listened to four inspiring speakers.

Discovering Centro and Praca XV November:

We were then all free until 2.00 pm when the concluding Conference Banquet was to be held. This allowed me to take the Metro from Catete station to Centro as I used my guide book to take a Walking Tour of the area known as Praca XV November. The area is filled with Portuguese churches each representing the glories of what is known as Brazilian Baroque. I popped in and out of several, then found myself in the maze of little by-lanes behind the main avenues where Rio has not changed in centuries. The architecture is highly reminiscent of what I see in Mapuca and Panjim in Goa–it is the colonial Portuguese aesthetic at its best. And although faded with age and lack of maintenance, it is still hugely appealing to me.

             Going through the Arcos de Telles (the only existing arch from Portuguese colonial days) and the Trevasso Commercial, I found myself in the huge square known as Praca XV November.
In the center of the square is the imposing equestrian sculpture of Dom Pedro II who made Rio his royal temporary capital and whose shadow (literally!) looms largely over the city.

And to my delight, being a Saturday morning, there was a flea market in progress. Now I can never resist the sale of antiques—so there I was, browsing through make shift stalls selling everything from old china, glass, porcelain, medals, coins, maps, fabrics and linens, cameras, light fixtures, etc. It was great fun to trawl through the stalls but nothing caught my fancy and before long, I was skirting the Paco Imperial—the main administrative building dating from colonial times and looking for a bus that would take me back to the hotel. 

Off to the Brazilian Churrascaria at Porcao Ipanema:

            It was in about half an hour that I reached the hotel in time to join the rest of the conference party headed for the Metro station to get once again to the ritzy streets of Ipanema for the concluding Conference Banquet. We were a jolly lot in the train for, by this stage, we had gotten to know each other well and felt like old friends.

            Teresa, our liaison person, led the group to the restaurant called the Porcao Ipanema—supposedly one of the best restaurants in the city, for Brazilian barbecue that is known as Churrascaria (this type of meal is also well-known in Argentina and there are a few restaurants of this kind in New York City as well). We were led to a private room in which all 30 of us were accommodated and there, while drinks orders were taken, the thankyou speeches and gifts were delivered. It was all great fun and amidst much cheering and heckling, the deeds were done and the eating began.

            First, we were directed to the Salad Bar to take our pick of the offerings—and there were countless delicious salads featuring a mixture of fruit and veg. On a side table, my heart leapt at the sight of Feijoada, Brazil’s national dish, which is a thick pork stew made with black beans and sausages. It is eaten with a variety of fixins’ that include steamed rice, wilted greens, polenta and a variety of sauces and toppings with which I was unfamiliar. I was told not to leave Brazil without trying this dish—so I was delighted at the opportunity to taste it…but sadly, I was not much impressed. The Goan Sorpotel which was also a derivative of Portuguese colonial rule over India is, if I may say so, far more scrumptious! Still, I wasn’t going to spend a long while making comparisons because meat awaited table-side.

And by golly, it just kept coming. Every style of barbecued meat from beef (sirloin, chuck, T-bone, etc) were brought to the table together with pork, lamb, sausages and chicken. Before I knew it, my plate was full and I felt utterly overwhelmed as I stared at a plate that represented the worst side of gluttony. That was when I started refusing any more table-side offerings and focused on finishing what was placed before me. This place is a carnivore’s paradise and were I as crazy about grilled meat as some people are, I might have done justice to it. As it was, I have to say that I missed the American barbecue or steak sauces that we find on our tables, the mustard that one finds in France and the horseradish sauce that is found internationally. The meat was wonderfully succulent but a tad too ‘natural’ for me. We had a array of desserts to choose from and I went for the Chocolate Cake—but I have to admit that I was bursting by the time dessert arrived and would gladly have passed on it.

Coffee and Conversation with an Old Friend:

            Since I found myself at Ipanema once again, I thought it wise to call a local Brazilian gal that I had known a long time ago in New York. Ana-Teresa was once married to a good friend of mine called Vivian, but with the end of their marriage, our brief friendship also ended. Since she had returned to her native home in Rio, I felt it wise to make contact with her and was delighted to discover, from our phone call, that she was absolutely thrilled to hear from me after almost 15 years.

            Ana-Teresa told me to wait for her at the restaurant as she would come in search of me. Right enough, an hour later, we had an affectionate reunion and, at my request, we went on a long walk through the chic streets of Ipanema and caught up on the intervening years. I badly needed to walk off my big meal and she was willing to oblige. About a half hour later, we found a Starbucksand popped in there for a seated chinwag. While she had a coffee (I passed as I had simply no room), we continued our long conversation. It was as if all that time and distance had never happened.

But about an hour later, with darkness having fallen swiftly over the city, we parted—she gave me a ride to the metro station in her car and carried on her way—suggesting that I pick up Hawaianas (the Carioca word for ‘flip flops’) from a shop called Hawaiana before I left Rio as they are famous for their beach footwear and make a very light and sturdy souvenir. I thought it was a great idea and resolved to return to Ipanema on Monday.

            Back on the underground train, I was at my apartment by 8.00 pm when I sat down to a do a bit of reading for a book assignment on which I am working. I spend the next couple of hours deep in my reading and at 10.00 pm, got ready for bed.

            It had been a very productive day and I was proud of how much I was packing into each of my days in Rio.

            Until tomorrow, Ciao!             

This Girl’s on Ipanema…and Leme…and Sugar Loaf Mountain

Jun18

 

Friday, June 12, 2015
This Girl’s On Ipanema…and Leme…and on Sugar Loaf Mountain.

            I awoke refreshed to another bright and very sunny Rio morning. With breakfast of cereal and milk, passionfruit yogurt, a ham and cheese-filled croissant, fresh fruit and coffee consumed, I was ready to hit the sightseeing trails again. And this time I would cover two more Rio Highlights—Sugar Loaf Mountain and famed Ipanema Beach.

            Shower done, I dressed and was out the door by 8.30 am as my guidebook had told me to get to Sugar Loaf Mountain as early as possible, both to beat the heat and the crowds. Into the Metro train I popped and rode it south to Botafogo metro station from where I took a connecting bus to Urca. Getting to Sugar Loaf Mountain is a bit of a production as it a bit out of the way and has no direct access.  Still, I was proud of the fact that I found the right bus stop and the right bus despite the debilitating language barrier.

 Climbing Sweet Sugar Loaf Mountain (Pao de Acucar):

            Sugar Loaf Mountain has neither sugar (or sugarcane) nor loaves anywhere near it. It is so-called because its conical shape reminded early Portuguese settlers of the conical molds used for the straining of sugarcane juice for making sugar and cashaca, the fermented liqeur that goes into caprinhas. Like Corcovado, it is visible from many parts of Rio and sits, quite prettily, in lovely Guanabarra Bay which is dotted with sailing craft.

            As in the case of Corcovado, there is a contraption that gets you up the mountain—only this one isn’t a picturesque tram that runs through a rain forest but a modern-day, very spiffy cable car hanging on thick cables. For the sum of R62(approx.. $21) that included the return ride to and fro as well as entry to the summit, a visitor has just as stunning a selection of postcard views of the city—and this time with very little aggravation for there are fewer tourist hordes.

            So, joining other visitors in their quest for the cable car station, I found it tucked away at the end of the street on which the bus had let me off. I bought my ticket and ascended into the very modern cable car boarding station and was soon leaving Mother Earth behind and beginning my ascent to the top. It was a much clearer day too and the city was not enshrouded in fog. As land grew more distant, we were dropped off at the first landing level called Morro de Urca (Urca Mountain) which offered really stunning views of Guanabarra Bay from many angles as well as delightful sightings of commercial aircraft taking off from the airport into the blue Brazilian skies. Of course, I did take several pictures because my camera simply did not wish to stop. On the opposite side, I could see Christ the Redeemer spreading forth His embracing hands only to be covered in thick cloud every few minutes.

            A short circumnavigation of the mountain took us to the second landing dock for ascent to the next level. Another short spurt in the cable car brought us to the summit of Sugar Loaf Mountain as we climbed ever higher. Once up there, a fierce wind threatened once again to blow off my baseball cap and I clung on to it for dear life. A few paces ahead was a lovely look-out point that offered a stunning, unbroken view of Copacabana Beach with its beige sands and its spiffy hotels on the promenade. From other parts of the mountain, one could spy still more attractive curves and angles of this beautiful city. There were many opportunities, in fact, to receive bird’s-eye views of Rio which is not common in other cities. It is easy to take in the seamless connections between nature and human development for every structure seems to have been carefully considered in terms of where or how it would fit within the complicated land and sea scape. It was really a pretty introduction to the city from a darling vantage point and I do think that although Christ the Redeemer is the more famous of the two locales, Sugar Loaf Mountain has much more going for it.

On Vermelha Beach and the Claudio Coutinho Trail:

Upon reaching ground level, I briskly went in search of a Trail named after Claudio Coutinho, a famous Brazilian football player. It is to be found at the base of Sugar Loaf Mountain and comprises a footpath that has been cut into the mountain following the curve of the sea. In attempting to find it, I was on the sands of the much-lesser known Vermelha (Red) Beach which is devoid of tourists but filled with locals enjoying the sun, sea, sand and surf. I sat on the stone parapet overlooking the waves for a long while and munched on a sandwich as I watched fifty shades of Brazilian bodies gleam in the sun.

            For what is remarkable about Brazilians, as I discovered on this visit, is how multi-racial they are. Truly, as in India, you can find every shade of complexion in this complex land—from Caucasian white (direct descendants of the Portuguese colonial settlers who arrived with the ‘discovery’ of Brazil by Pedro Cabral in the early 1500s) to Afro-Brazilians (descendants of African slaves brought to Brazil by the Portuguese from their colonies in Angola and Mozambique) and every shade in-between as a result of the immense inter-racial co-habitation that has gone on in Brazil for centuries. If there is any form of racism in Brazil, I was not made aware of it during my short stay. Instead I found people living in great harmony together irrespective of their skin color or class—for it is also evident that, as in India, there are a plethora of economic levels of prosperity. Extraordinarily wealthy Cariocas (as seen in the sophisticated coffee shops) share space with the homeless and with beggars—both of whom I saw on the streets very frequently.

            After I spent a while musing and enjoying the hssh-hssh of the waves on Vermelha Beach where I spotted surfers, kayakers, swimmers and sun-bathers, I began my trek along the lovely pathway named for Coutinho. I also discovered, while in Brazil, that all the surnames with which I am completely familiar through my Indo-Goan heritage, are pronounced quite differently in India (where they have become heavily Anglecized). For instance, Coutinho is pronounced Coo-tin-yo. And Noronha is pronounced No-ron-ya. Moraes is pronounced Mo-raish and Soares is pronounced Su-or-aish. Mendes, therefore, becomes Men-daish. Keeping my ear closely sensitive to the sound of words as they are pronounced on the Portuguese tongue, I found great similarities with French. For example, it is customary to greet anyone you meet with the words Bom Dia which is pronounced Bonjia—its similarly to the French Bonjour which is also used to mean Good Day and begins any conversation is surprisingly similar.

            The Trailway was as delightful as I expected. It is not very populated so I did not expect throngs. But I was not afraid as there is an army base close by and the presence of military personnel in uniform was evident everywhere. On this trail, I passed by very pretty birds that looked like parrots but were very differently colored—I believe they are called tanagers. I also saw what looked like kingfishers with long sharply pointed beaks. Seagulls and dark black cormorants were everywhere bathing and sunning themselves on the rocks that jutted into the crashing waves. On the bottom, where the ocean met the land floor, I saw fishermen trying their luck. Families were picnicking on the edge of the trail seated on benches that afforded lovely views of Vermelha Beach. Indeed, it was a perfect morning for a walk and I enjoyed the trail very much. About a half hour into the walk, I turned around as I still had a great deal of exploring left to do for the day and did not want to tire myself out too much.

 The Girl’s Going to Ipanema:

            Back at the bus stop, I found the bus that would take me to Ipanema—another lovely long bus ride through the warrens of the city showed me many different faces of it. I loved the experience of traveling with local Cariocas and of becoming a part of their daily commute to work or their daily chores. I asked a girl seated in front of me to tell me when to hop off for I was headed to Ipanema and her English was good enough for her to assure me that she would do the needful.

            Like Copacabana, Ipanema Beach is famous globally. It was a song that put it on the tourist map—a song called The Girl From Ipanema with which all jazz enthusiasts are familiar. I was keen to get a bit of the local action there and when I got off at the Vincius Moraes stop, I could already smell the salt tang of the sea air. It took me two seconds to discover that Ipanema is a far cry from Copacabana. The approach to the latter is still seedy, run-down, unimpressive. The former, well…it turns out to be the most sought-after address is Rio and the hang out of all the most beautiful people. Trendy restaurants, high-end stores, designer fashion boutiques—they are all here in the three long streets and many by-lanes that compose the area.

But I wasn’t there for the shopping—it was the beach I was after. And when I got there, I found another endless stretch of black and white mosaic stone pavement and a wide white sand beach behind it. The waters were equally azure but the waves were far more in control for the  tide was probably out. It was a good time to wet my toes and peeling off my sandals, I waded in gasping at first at the coolness of the water and then enjoying it immensely. Many pictures later (for these land and seascapes just beg to be photographed), I was off. At Zona Sul, a lovely upscale supermarket on the corner of one of the streets, I stocked up on more food for the next few days—more custard apples (I simply could not get enough of them!), gorgonzola cheese, bottled water.

Then I walked to the subway and while on it heading home to Gloria for a much-needed rest, I read up on the history of the song that put Ipanema on the global map. Indeed, the long roadoin which I had been walking (Rua Vincinus Moraes) was named after the song’s lyricist—he and composer Antonio Carlos Jobim had created it in 1962 based on the fact that they would see daily a very beautiful young girl walk past the bar at which they drank and make her way to the sea. They knew that she was far above their league—she was young, they were faded musicians; she was privileged, they were penniless. They wrote the song for her because both of them fell in love with the image of this gorgeous girl and because Age had bestowed on them a certain truth of which she was unaware—that Time would rob her of her beauty, her vivacity, her hopefulness. So, the song is not just about falling in love but about regret at our inability to hold back the cruel hand of Time—rather like Shakespeare’s Sonnets really. It won the Grammy Award for Song of the Year in 1965 after Frank Sinatra recorded it with English lyrics written by Norman Gimbel.

Back home, I put my groceries away in the fridge and lay down for a while. At 4 pm, I awoke, got freshened up and walked to the Windsor Florida Hotel to attend a session at the conference that I was keen to hear. Right after it ended at 5. 30, we were supposed to be taken on a Walking Tour of the city entitled “Walking Between Night Lights in Downtown Rio” by Dr. Joao Baptista Ferreira de Mello, professor at the State University of Rio. But sadly, the skies had turned rain-ridden and the good professor decided to call the walk off.


Dinner on the sands of Leme Beach:

            Plan B went into action. The 12 of us who had signed up to take the walk decided to go out for dinner instead—to Leme Beach which adjoins Copacabana Beach—and that was what we did. We piled into taxis and hit the sands and, in one of the beach shacks, decided to eat the offerings of a very modest eatery. The waves made fine music in the background as Prof. Anna Sodolewska from Poland and I decided to share a plate of 10 bacalau balls and a giant plate of Brazilian fish—they served the curried fish whole —with rice and salad. Nothing to rave about, I’m afraid, but the joy of sipping another frosty caprinha on the sands of Leme was romantic and I soaked it all in.

            By 8. 30 pm, we were done for the evening—yeah, we profs are a rockin’ and rollin’; lot!—and into cabs we piled. I shared one with Prof. Theo from Metropolitan College in New York who dropped me at my building and carried on to his hotel in Cinelandia.

            All it took then were a few minutes for me to prepare for bed with brushing and flossing of my teeth and PJs to piled into.

            Until tomorrow, ciao!       

Rio’s Botanical Gardens & Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa

Jun17

Thursday, June 11, 2015:

Rio Conference Calling, Botanical Gardens, Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa:    

            On the day of my conference presentation, I arose at 6. 30 am, did some reading in bed (I had downloaded Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy on my I-Phone), took a shower, ate a hearty breakfast of cereal with passionfruit yogurt, coffee and fresh fruit, and walked out of my apartment with growing confidence. In 10 minutes, I was at the hotel just in time for the Welcome Remarks at 9.00 am sharp by David Rosner and Michael Andregg. And then, we were off to the room in which my presentation would be made. I had a Powerpoint Presentation to set up and a paper to fish out and within five minutes, I was ready to go. Indeed, I turned out to be the first speaker of the conference and to a crowd of global representatives from many countries (many of whom were from Saudi Arabia), I was off and running. I spoke for twenty minutes on “The Clash of Titans: Quasi-Capitalism and Socialism in the Literature and Cinema of Post-Colonial India”, showed several slides on the screen and waited for the next three presenters on my panel to strut their stuff before the house was opened to questions from the floor. I had a very interesting morning indeed as I listened to the presenters as well as responded to questions and then within two hours, it was over. My official part in the conference had concluded. I was free to enjoy the city of Rio at leisure, attend several more panels and more presentations as and when I chose to and network with the delegates. I had a small coffee, nibbled at a chocolate and walked out into a brilliantly warm day for the next excursion on my agenda—a visit to  Rio’s famed Botanical Gardens.

 Browsing Through The Botanical Gardens:

             Several guide books had recommended a visit to Rio’s Botanical Gardens as a great place in which to discover rain forest vegetation. Somehow, I thought I would take a break from urban sprawl and sprawl instead in vast green acreage, far from the madding crowd. The hotel receptionist told me that taking public buses would make the journey long and complicated as it involved a change. He recommended a taxi and got me one for the agreed price of R30 (approx.. $10). I thought it was a steal but found myself stuck in awful traffic—thank heavens we had agreed on a price at the start—I was certain  I would have paid double that had I gone by the meter.

            Well, the Botanical Garden was probably my biggest disappointment in my travels. It was huge—hundreds of acres were covered with lawns and gardens and at the Entrance from where I purchased a ticket for R9 (approx. $3), no one informed me that there was a golf cart of sorts manned by an assistance that ferried people about the park. As it turned out, I was presented with a bilingual map and after surveying it for a while, decided to begin by a walk through the Parade of Imperial Palms—so-called because they were planted by King Dom Pedro II of Pprtugal when he moved his capital from Lisbon to Rio to escape the onslaught of Napoleon II in 1820. He chose to plant palms as a manifestation of Portugal’s colonial might. These tower above the visitors’ heads today and are quite the tallest palms I have ever seen.

              Next, I intended to see the Orchidarium (as orchids are my favorite flower). But after a long and very hot walk past many sculptured members of royalty, a gushing musical cascade, an arbor strung over with creeping vines, I had a huge disappointment awaiting me. The Orchidarium was closed because it was being renovated in time for the Olympics. While workers painted the inside walls of the green house in a brilliant white, I consoled myself with the thought that there were not many orchids to be seen anyway as it is winter in Rio.

            Instead, I was compensated for my disappointment by sighting a vast family of marmosets—small, black, tufted-eared monkeys, that were raiding a garbage bin, helping themselves to the contents before swinging up and huge a wide banyan tree. They were simply adorable and I ended up taking a bunch of pictures. They were the only wildlife I saw that morning although brochures state that the Botanical Gardens are a haven of bird life.

            I continued walking for at least the next hour as I inspected the varied offerings of this space, but nothing impressed me. Looking for a rest area to nibble on my ham and cheese sandwiches, I bought a bottle of cold water and picnicked in the company of a group of middle school kids on a field trip with their teachers. Finally, my visit ended with a nip into another glass house to see carnivorous plants that devoured insects that settled on them. I had never seen anything like these and was amazed to find succulents with tiny insects actually embedded in their waxy leaves. Another long stroll under the Imperial Palms brought me to the entrance of the gardens from where I looked for a bus to get me to the center of town. I ran into two tourists from Portugal who were looking for a bus stop too and we soon found out that we had to walk a good ten minutes to find the correct one. Eventually, however, when a bus marked ‘Gloria’ trundled along, I hopped in and was so delighted to find that it was air-conditioned and did not cost me more than the standard R3. 40. It was a very long and winding bus route indeed but again, I was in no hurry and thoroughly enjoyed the coolness of my confines, the opportunity to rest my feet and survey the wide-spread city.

            The bus dropped me in Gloria, just a block away from my apartment, and I was amazed at the joy with which I anticipated an afternoon nap. For indeed, I have to say that the heat was quite enervating indeed and I found myself feeling quite drained by mid-day. I made myself a cold chocolate milk shake, settled in front of the TV to enjoy it, did a bit of reading and then took a half hour’s nap.

Discovering Lapa and Santa Teresa On Foot:

            With the early evening stretching ahead of me and the temperature having cooled down somewhat, I decided to go out in search of the highlights of the two neighborhoods adjacent to Gloria called Lapa and Santa Teresa. There were several structures in these areas that demanded inspection and I was keen to comply.

            I walked first to the Church of Our Lady of Lapa (Igrejia de Nossa Senhora de Lapa) which is appealingly antiquated on its corner location within striking distance from the far more dominating Arcos de Lapa or Lapa Acqueduct. Inside, I found an extremely old and very ornate Portuguese church adorned with ceramic tiles. Its altar was in the Portuguese mode with which I had become familiar on my travels in Portugal as well as in Goa, India: several step-like tiers climb to the top where a statue of the deity to whom the church is dedicated is placed. I spent some time in prayer, admired the splendid interior with its multiple statues and then left.

 Climbing the Selaron Staircase (Escadaria Selaron):

Just across the street from the church is a nondescript lane that leads to one of Lapa’s most intriguing attractions: the Selaron Staircase.  Although it was already 4.00 pm, scores of tourists were making their way to the end of the lane where the staircase was clearly visible. They are the handiwork of Chilean artist Jorge Selaron who described them as his “tribute to the Brazilian people”. In 1990, Selaron began to renovate the delapidated staircase running outside his house with brightly colored tiles representing the Brazilian flag. Initially, people laughed at him, but the project soon became his obsession and he neglected his primary work as a painter to create the staircase.

Very soon, Selaron was joined in the project by visitors from around the world who warmed to the idea and began donating tiles representative of their countries. In the 250 steps, there are today about 2000 embedded tiles. The steps that begin in Lapa, an old and rather run-down part of town, go up to the heights of Santa Teresa where there is a small shrine. Selaron began to see the project as never-ending. Every few months, he would start over an area that had already been completed—as a result, it is a constant work-in-progress. Today, tourists pose, as I did, on the steps and closely inspect the many tiles that represent so many different countries. It is a lovely idea on global ecumenism and collaboration and certainly a sight to be seen in Rio. No wonder bus tours bring loads of tourists from all over the world to grab an eyeful.


The Aqueduct of Lapa:

            From the steps, at the end of the lane, the Aqueduct of Lapa is only a few steps away. This is a towering structure that is reminiscent of the Pont du Gard in the South of France. It is built in two tiers and is freshly painted in cream (perhaps for the Olympics?). I took several pictures before attempting to make my way to the end of it in order to board the famous tram that would carry me up Santa Teresa hill.

            No such luck! I discovered that the tram has been temporarily discontinued as fresh track is being laid down on the hill of Santa Teresa…you guessed it, in time for the Olympics! My plans were dashed again, but as I walked under the aqueduct to enter the very happening neighborhood of club-infested, bohemian Lapa, I spied a Tourist Information booth and hurried to it. The sweet assistant told me there in broken English that I could catch a bus that would follow the same route as the tram and take me up to Santa Teresa—this neighborhood offers lovely views of the city as well as the charm of old architecture and well-preserved old houses.

 Exploring Santa Teresa by Bus:

            With darkness falling swiftly (around 5. 30 pm), I followed his directions, found the bus-stop and boarded the bus. And then I had to hang on for dear life because the driver kept pretending he was in Grand Prix! He went around the hair pin bends of the hills of Santa Teresa at top speed, came frequently to sudden frantic jerking stops and seemed to be having the time of his life. I had believed that only auto-rickshaw drivers in India were demented—but these beat them hands down! I had been advised to get off at Guimares Square and had told the driver to let me out when I got there. I have to say that despite my fears of dying in a bus collision, I quite enjoyed the ride.

But I was rather disappointed when we arrived at Guimares and I was told to get off.  There I was in what seemed like a gigantic construction zone. The uprooting of the tram tracks left deep trench-like trails on the hill top, the lighting was barely there, the area was almost deserted but for a few people awaiting a bus on the opposite side. There were a few desultory restaurants doing faint business but I could not, for the life of me, find anything even remotely interesting and wondered why I had made the wild trek up there.

Eventually I did find a store assistant who could speak a bit of English and she advised me to walk down the hill towards the two museums for which the area is famed. It was close to 7.00 pm by then and both museums would be closed at that hour. However, she said, their grounds afforded lovely views of the city lying in what appeared to be a carpet of gold and silver lights and I got a few good views. But it really wasn’t anything to write home about and, once again, I found myself worrying about personal safety as the area was almost deserted and the few folks I did pass were of the dodgy sort.

It was best to find the bus stop that would take me back to Lapa and I lost no time in looking for one. Fortunately, a bus arrived in under a minute and climbing in, I was deposited back downhill to Lapa from where I began the brisk walk home to my apartment. En route, I stopped at one of the casual eateries (run by the Chinese Mafia in Rio, as Rosana informed me!) and bought myself a ham and cheese roll and a chicken puff for a mere couple of dollars. A few feet ahead, I saw a man with a cart selling Churros—the deep-fried dough treat to which I had become introduced in Spain during our travels there. These were made on a tube like machine and inside each tube either dulche de leche (caramel) or chocolate sauce was squirted. I chose one of each for just R2 each and thrilled with my dinner, made my way home. The churros were outstanding and I resolved to buy them if I ever saw the cart again. Once again, the TV in Portuguese kept me company while I prepared for bed after what had been a rather disappointing day discovery-wise but a very satisfying professional one.

Until tomorrow, Ciao!

Feeling Like a True Carioca: Discovering Corcovado Mountain and Copacabana Beach

Jun17

 

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Becoming a True  Carioca–A Full Day of Sight-Seeing

            Awaking on my first morning in Rio, my I-Phone alarm did not go off: I had forgotten to put it on AM mode—it promptly went off at 6. 30 that evening! Rosana was expected at my flat at 8.00 am ready to take me off for breakfast to a local eatery where ordinary folks get their first cuppas of the day. I was eager and excited, but lay fast asleep. Brazil is one hour ahead of New York time—so it was a few minutes before 8.00 am, when I awoke with a start. Rosana rang my bell quite promptly, five minutes later, then remembered she had left her cell phone at her place. That gave me 15 minutes to get my act together before her return.

The Church of Our Lady of Gloria (Igrejia de Nosso Senhora de Gloria):

            About 20 minutes later, I was all set. But we had lost precious time and Rosana had a conference to attend. She was keen to take me for a visit to the Church of Our Lady of Glory (for which the entire area is named). It is perched high on a hill and overlooks the city center. Even from below, I could see its Portuguese archaic design. We walked together briskly, dodging traffic, across Gloria Park and made our way to the entrance of a funicular train that whisks worshippers up the hill to the church—I was grateful because I did not fancy climbing a steep hill on an empty stomach. Alas, the church was closed. We were able to skirt its periphery, take pictures of its old-world ambience as well as lovely pictures of Rio spread below us at a time when Cariocas were slowly getting ahead with their day. The sun was a little too hot on my back—this is winter in the tropics, I thought! The days are warmer in winter than Southport, Connecticut, in the summer!

 Breakfast in a Local Eatery:

Next on the agenda was breakfast in a small local eatery—not the one Rosana initially had in mind as there was little time for that venue; but a small, inexpensive coffee shop of which Rio is full. People stop at any time of the day for a cuppa and a snack—fried bolinhas (balls) with sweet or savory fillings are common or stuffed puff-pastry triangles make similar treats. Rosana ordered a cheese ball—cheese is not stuffed inside in this case but is included in the dough which is then baked. I found its texture too rubbery for my taste. I chose a large slice of banana bread studded with granola and a large cup of American coffee with milk. It is customary to drink espresso coffee here—dark, strong and black in very tiny cups. Not my cup of er…coffee! Breakfast was delicious and on wiping our mouths clean, we walked for the next five minutes to the Windsor Florida Hotel where the conference for which I had come to Rio would be held. Rosana’s conference was in another hotel nearby.

Off to See Christ the Redeemer (Christo Redentor):

            At the entrance to the Windsor Florida Hotel and having pointed out the Metro (underground) stop called Catete, Rosana bid me goodbye and hurried off. I know from much travel experience that it is best to ‘do’ the most important sights first—in other words, to prioritize one’s sightseeing and to take advantage of good weather (one never knows when rain will arrive to dampen touring plans).In cities, there is always the chance of a transport strike or other factors that can close it down—best see the main sights while possible and go down one’s list in descending order of importance, I say.

            So…it was to Corcovado—the famous mountain on which the towering statue of Brazil’s most iconic sculpture is located—that I made a bee-line. But how to get there? It is not served by a Metro stop. Best to ask at Hotel Reception, I thought. So in I went to the charming Receptionist at the Windsor Florida Hotel whose English was good enough to get her message across. A number of hotel personnel converged around me to offer the standard response to most tourists—to get somewhere, just take a cab—and there was a string of them outside the hotel. Now cabs are very reasonably priced in Rio, but I was keen, as I am everywhere in the world—to live like the locals do. So I insisted on being told how to get there by public bus (the cheapest and easiest way to see a foreign city). In a few minutes, I was advised to walk five minutes up the street to the bus terminus at Largo do Machado from where buses ran to Cosme Velho—the base for an excursion up Corcovado.

            And how easily I found it! At Largo do Machado, I asked some bus conductors to direct me to the correct bus for Cosme Velho—pointing to the places on a map was a good way to get answers to questions. Another five minutes later, I was sailing off to Corcovado and getting a free sightseeing tour of Rio in the bargain! Again, I kept thinking I was driving through the streets of Bombay because so many similarities leaped out at me.

 Climbing Up Corcovado:

            About a half hour later, I was at the terminus of the Trem de Corcovado, a modern tram system that gets visitors up the mountain every half hour. I bought a ticket for R51 (about $18)—this included return fares on the tram and the entry fee to the monument. Crowds were gregarious and noisy—most were Americans who had arrived in package tours groups, although there were hordes from Singapore and elsewhere. Having to wait for a half hour for the next tram allowed me to use the free wifi (as there was no sign of connectivity in my apartment). It is amazing when one travels how sensitive one becomes to re-charging points, wifi hotspots, etc.

            When a half hour had passed, the tram did arrive and I piled in with other merry-makers to climb the mountain. It was a delightful 20 minute ride into the heart of the rain forest called Tijuca National Park that was shaded and dappled at every turn. Trees that I easily recognized from my Indian childhood flooded into perspective—mango, cashew, papaya, banana, banyan. They formed a shady canopy as we climbed ever higher when the first glimpses of the sculpture came into focus even as the sprawling city of Rio grew more distant beneath us.

            When we arrived at the summit, we raced a few paces to the peak and then, there it was! My first glimpse, up close and personal, of Christ the Redeemer. It is a towering work of art by the Parisian sculptor Paul Landowski through a project engineered by the Brazilian Hector da Silva Costa for which local Cariocas raised money as they went door to door urging people to give. It is 98 feet tall with an arm spread of 92 feet. The equivalent of Paris’ Eiffel Tower, this figure can be seen from most parts of Rio (when the summit is not shrouded in fog). It stands on a tall pedestal (like the Statue of Liberty) in which base in a really tiny chapel with room for about 10 people—Pope John Paul II said Mass in it on a visit here but although I wished to enter, it was all boarded up for refurbishment. This was what I found in a number of places I visited: perhaps this is the wrong time to visit Rio for the city is gearing up seriously for the 2016 Olympics and everywhere you go, there is evidence of sprucing up. Next year this time, the city will be glowing, no doubt; but for the moment, I realized I had to get accustomed to disappointment.

            Soon I joined the hordes on the crest of the mountain to take pictures of the city spread out beneath me. Unfortunately, it was a very foggy day and huge bits of the city were blanketed in a haze. I took pictures as best I could and asked others to take my picture to immortalize my visit to the sacred spot. The spread of the city at my feet was an awesome feeling. I tried to acquaint myself with its many neighborhoods—tall high rise apartment buildings dwarf the lower structures. But there is order everywhere—Rio is not haphazard in the way that Bombay is. It is not derelict in the way that some parts of Bombay are. Everywhere you look from a height you see more mountains and islands. There are large stadiums (including Maracana which will play a big role during the Olympics, no doubt) and parks—so much greenery everywhere—and a huge lake called Largo de Roderigo Freitas in the middle of the city. With so many water views, it is no surprise that luxury high-rise buildings offering stunning views are packed into the urban island spaces. They give the city a most interesting and very distinctive feel.

The Art Deco sculpture is indeed impressive, not just in terms of its massive size but also the benign and kindly expression on Christ’s face. Sadly, visitors make the whole experience a bit too overwhelming. There are crowds and noise and cameras and professional photographers offering to take glossy pictures with the statue in the background for a lot of money. There are souvenir shops whose tacky wares were heavily overpriced. There are refreshment rooms whose food and drink costs a fortune. Overall, it was not as pleasant an experience as I had hoped and it was with little regret that I returned to the line to take the tram back down to the base.

            It was while waiting for the tram that I made friends with a young guy who was reading an English novel on his Kindle. He turned out to be a gay American professor of eco-tourism who teaches at Ferrum College in Virginia. Also traveling alone as part of a work assignment to create eco-friendly trails in the rain forests of Brazil, Chris made a worthy companion as we talked about our plans in the city. He intended to get to the Confiteria Colombodowntown after our excursion in Corcovado, while I decided to go in search of a place called Largo de Botacaria that Lonely Planet had suggested I visit without fail.

 In Search of Largo da Botacaria:

            Largo da Botacaria was supposedly only a five minute trek from the base of Corcovado Mountain’s tram station and Chris decided to accompany me on my search to find this antiquated square built in the 18th century that was reminiscent of Rio in that epoch. When we did find it, we were kind of disappointed. I expected to find much more that the rather ill-maintained, dilapidated Portuguese colonial era building with its faded paint and central potted plant in the cobbled square. A river that flowed through it looked little better than a large gutter. Still, I suppose, it was worth it to see how old Rio might have looked before automobiles when people sat on their stoops and gossiped the hot mornings away—as a couple of women were doing when we visited. We spent barely ten minutes there, took a few pictures and left them to their natter.

 Off to Confiteria Colombo:

            Five minutes later, we were back at the public bus terminus looking for the bus that would take us to Centro (as the downtown area is called) to go in search of Confiteria Colombo of which I too had read in my guidebook. This is one of the old coffee shops that date from Portuguese colonial times—the 1700s, a time when fashionable men and women stepped into these restaurants to sip a coffee and nibble on a delicious pastry after a busy morning’s shopping for luxury exotic goods that had been acquired through colonization. With a few of these places still left in Rio, they are being well-preserved and patronized and a stop in any one of them is a lovely experience of Rio as it once was.

Our bus ride took forever as it wound sluggishly through the crowded streets. While I enjoyed it immensely (as bus rides are, in my opinion, the cheapest and most interesting way to see a city), Chris got fed up and recommended that we jump off at the next Metro station to take the super quick underground train. I agreed as I was grateful for his company that would enable me to learn how the system worked. At Largo do Machado, we jumped off and under Chris’ guidance, I bought a Pre-Paid card (the equivalent of a London Oystercard) and filled it with R20 worth of rides (each ride costs a flat R3.40 as on the buses). There is something wonderfully comforting about having a flat transport fee over the entire country! From Foz to Rio, the price of bus rides was the same! I discovered that Rio’s Metro system is small—really tiny with no more than a total of 20 stations. But it is marvelously bright, clean, spacious, modern. Rio’s city map contains its Metro map as well and within five minutes, I felt like a veteran commuter. It was ever so easy to get in and out of the trains and to find seats within. All underground trains are fully air-conditioned and quiet: here is where Rio differs from Bombay. While the trains in Bombay are hot, smelly, dusty ovens filled with incessant chatter, here no one spoke and when people do, they speak quietly. The trains get you up and down the city speedily and conveniently and at about a dollar a ride, they are dirt cheap as well.


Coffee and Conversation at Confiteria Colombo:

            Chris and I hopped off at Urugiana Metro station and, using our trusty maps, found Confiteria Colombo in about ten minutes, tucked away in one of the busy commercial lanes of the Centro area. Once inside, the visitor is struck by the delightfully antiquated ambience. There are wall-length Belgian mirrors that reflect sparkling chandeliers that light up the cavernous space. All wooden fitments are made of native jacaranda wood and a huge stained glass ceiling (as in Paris’ Galleries Lafayette) offsets the entire interior. It is opulent but in the classiest way.

            A maître d’hotel led us past an array of dazzling show cases filled with every conceivable pastry, frosted cake and cookie. A lovely hostess then led us to a table for tea where we settled down with bilingual menus. Local Cariocas were dressed beautifully—men in jackets and ties, women in pearls–as they sipped their coffees and forked creamy cakes into their mouths. We felt a bit scruffy in our tourist gear…but hey, we were there for the local experience. Before long, we had made our choices: I got a most unusual item from the menu (one I rarely see anywhere but which happens to be a personal favorite of mine!): A croquette filled with Smoked Ox Tongue! I know, I know…you are possibly shuddering, but believe me, I have always loved cold tongue and I never can find it in the US. I also chose a Hazelnut Chocolate Pastry made of Hazelnut chocolate mousse in a crisp tart shell—similar to the Pastel de Nata (Christmas pastries, really little custard tarts, that were invented in Belem outside Lisbon in Portugal where I had eaten them on a visit there). We washed our goodies down with coffee—iced for Chris, a macchiato for me–and by the time we lifted the last crumbs off our plates, we were well and truly full. Everything was delicious but, more importantly, we felt as if we had experienced one of the oldest traditions of this city—whiling away a few hours with coffee and conversation in very good company.

 Off to Copabacana Beach:

            With our bills squared away, Chris and I hopped on to the Metro again. He was off someplace that he wanted to cover before he left Rio for a trip south the next day. I was headed to the city’s most famous beach—Copacabana, that had also given its name to a New York night club (that I had once danced in early in my stay in the US—one that Barry Manilow had immortalized in one of his songs. ).

Well, I took the Metro down to Cordeal Arcoverde station and about fifteen minutes later, I was looking straight at the water. It was about 3.30 pm by this time and I have to say that the entire area is a bit tired-looking. Copacabana Beach is wide and full of fine white sand. It was the local hang out and far from upscale until the Copacabana Palace Hotelopened in the 1930s in a grand Neo-Classical style. Then the beautiful people began flocking here and before you knew it, the beach was on the international tourist map.

When I arrived at the promenade that runs along the waterfront, I was struck as all visitors are, by the beautiful curving forms of the mosaic sidewalk in black and white stone. In fact, these are an essentially unique feature in Rio—a product of Portuguese colonial design. But since they have to be laid, stone by stone, by hand, the process is laborious and expensive. Rosana explained to me that it is hard to find local Brazilian labor to undertake this work and, ironically enough, laborers are now being imported from cash-strapped Portugal, to take on the repairs of these interesting sidewalks. Not the most convenient for high heels, I have to say that I was grateful for the Hush Puppy Epic Mary Janes that I had especially purchased for this trip as I had grown tired of my Dansko Clogs (that had been my trusty footwear over many a mile in unknown realms).

Anyway, I spent a while lounging on the sands of Copacabana and watching the changing human drama unfold before my eyes. Bikini-clad Cariocas were frolicking amidst the towering azure waves. The water was crystal clear but the fury and height of the waves made it perfect for surfing. Although I saw a lot of surf boards sprinkled on the sands, there were no surfers in sight. Bathers yes, surfers no. And it was hot! I had no intention of getting into the water because I lacked bathing gear…but I was sorely tempted to wet my feet. Vendors went from one customer to the next selling an array of products—beach towels, beach balls and other toys, snacks, potato wafers, cold drinks. Kite fliers were busy on another part of the beach that curved to the distant Copacabana Fort. The seascape reminded me a lot of South Beach in Miami as the promenade here too is lined by luxury hotels—Miami’s architecture is restricted to Art Deco buildings while these are varied.

            When I had rested my feet a while, I began to walk along the curving black and white mosaic sidewalk towards the grand hotel that had started the tourist rush to the water front.

There in the cool air-conditioned space, I used the free wifi and the free loos and took in the special ritzy ambience of five-star hotels everywhere in the world. The Copacabana Palace Hotel has played host to some of the world’s most prominent celebrities including Queen Elizabeth II and there is a small exhibit on one of the floors that proclaims its fame.  I also had a sit-down on one of the nicest sofas in the Reception Lounge and then, when I felt sufficiently rested, I walked slowly back to the Metro stop, along yet another street in order to discover some more of the area and feeling as if a bit of a lie-down was in order, I made my way back to my apartment. I loved its central location and was very grateful for the fact, as in the case of my London apartment, that I could get anywhere in about 15 minutes.

A Late Afternoon Siesta Chez Moi:

            I had my customary 40 winks. This usually lasts 20 minutes and leaves me feeling really refreshed—the perfect cat nap. In the quiet, darkened atmosphere of my bedroom, with city sounds shut off, sleep came quickly and I dozed off and slept deeply. It was good to take these breaks from the hectic pace of uninterrupted sightseeing.

 Conference Cocktail Caprinhas on the Terrace:

            At about 6. 30 pm, having changed and freshened up, I walked with the confidence of a local resident to the Windsor Florida Hotel which I reached in under 10 minutes, to meet the rest of the delegates who would have arrived for the conference in which I would be participating the next day. The Conference was being organized by the International Society for the Comparative Study of Civilizations (ISCSC) and its office bearers were already at the lobby when I arrived. I immediately recognized its President Prof. David Rosner of Metropolitan College, New York, who welcomed me warmly, exchanged a few words with me, introduced me to the local Rio liaison person, Teresa Aguiar, and suggested I take the elevator to the Roof Garden to meet the other participants over drinks. And it was there that I had my first sips of the famous cocktail known as the Caprinha (pronounced Caprin-ya) which is Brazil’s answer to the Cuban mojito. Made by muddling limes, adding a shot of cashaca (sugarcane liqueur) and loads of ice, the drink is wonderfully refreshing on a hot evening although I reckon it could be enjoyed all year round. Snacks like potato crisps and assorted nuts were provided by the bar and seated in the company of international delegates from the US, Iran, Brazil, Poland, etc. I felt very much at ease. Over the next few days, I would get to know this pack of participants well and I was glad to have made their acquaintance as we literally broke the ice over drinks.

            But by 8. 30 pm, I felt compelled to return to my apartment. Although the area is well-lit and crowded, I was rather worried about my personal safety and did not wish to risk staying out alone too late. The brisk walk home took me less than ten minutes and in the quiet privacy of my room, I reviewed my presentation for the next day, watched a spot of TV in Portuguese, had a lovely hot shower and readied myself for sleep after what had been an ultra-productive day of sightseeing that had covered two of Rio’s highlights—Corcavado and Copacabana.

            Indeed, by the time I switched off my bedside lamp, I had begun to feel like a true Carioca!

            Until tomorrow, ciao!