It's now been 3 weeks since I arrived in Rio, and I'm back where I started in the most friendly, beautiful home away from home I could have asked for - Discovery Hostel. It is an oasis of calm and comfort in the chaos that is Rio de Janeiro. I have lived in a favela, in a cave-like hostel in Copacabana and the hammock strewn paradise of Ilha Grande but I've always found my way back to this glorious hostel in Gloria (an area of Rio).
Venturing out from the hostel into the 'Cidade Maravilhosa' is a whirlwind of traffic jams, frantic construction of new infrastructure ready for the Olympics and protests regarding the upcoming games. The sand castles on the beach emblazoned with 'Welcome to Rio' have been parodied by the protesters with 'Welcome to Hell' and 'Welcome to Chaos' banners as they admonish the onlookers against the corruption of the government, the lack of funding for education, the low police salaries that leave tourists vulnerable to crime that goes unpunished.
Leaving the confines of the city behind the traffic becomes less grid-locked but more 'dodgems' as the undertaking and tailgating increases in speed and frequency. The obsession with tickets, vouchers and wristbands continues as you book boats, buses or metros - buying a ticket from one person to then hand it directly to the person behind them. Nothing compares to the convoluted systems in nightclubs paying for discount vouchers which you hand over to receive a ticket, which is then traded for a wristband. Drinks are ordered from a cashier booth and a voucher is then redeemed at the bar. Cash often proves a problem in other transactions as there seems to be a universal lack of change in Rio. I've often ended up paying by card for a bottle of water costing R$2 as my R$10 note would be looked at with disgust. It is rather ironic considering large purchases such as accommodation, transfers and tours booked through hostels always seem to be cash only - forcing you to withdraw large sums from cash machines, at vast expense due to withdrawal fees not to mention personal risk.
Somehow though, I have got used to these little nuances, navigating the public transport network, haggling at street food stalls and searching for specific items in the market. The currency is starting to become familiar and I am recognising streets (saying this I did get lost in Santa Teresa and kindly escorted half the way to the hostel by a kind local yesterday). After 3 Friday nights out in Lapa, the last one feeling confident enough to find my own way to a club I'd been to before, with 2 teenage friends in tow, I have fully experienced the energy and party vibe people rave about. It is certainly infectious as you watch the professional samba dancers, attempt to join in and get whisked off your feet by local Forro and Salsa dancers until 4 in the morning (Louise Vernall you would be proud of my late nights). Having had more time than I really needed to see the main tourist sights my pace has slowed right down this week and helped me recover from my 'daycare' cold. Thankfully, the extra time has meant the chance to find activities that I might search for in London such as a fab private capoeira lesson and a contemporary dance class at Deborah Colker's studio that just happens to be next door to my hostel - so I haven't become a complete couch potato. Unfortunately the opportunity to become a beach bum has not been apparent thanks to a sudden cold patch of weather - the Cariocas (Rio locals) don't know what's hit them! Not feeling quite like a Carioca myself thanks to my ability to cope with the cold and my appalling attempts at Portuguese, I am beginning to feel like if I stayed here long enough I could become one.
No comments:
Post a Comment