Memorial Day, 2007

A motorcycle ride to bathe in the Jefferson Pools in Warm Springs, VA--

And dinner with Mom and Antonio. Aren't we just the height of coolness?

It was a complete blast.

A whirlwind tour of Rio.

It was to be my last weekend in Brazil....that is, until Frank informed me on Friday that Britaldo had asked him to send me back to Brazil for a month. We’ve got a cattle model to finish, too few people, and not enough time. So, a return trip to Brazil en route to Africa.

“Wait to tell her until after her trip to Rio...” Britaldo had apparently told Frank, but I was quite glad to know on Friday and to talk to my landlord about hanging onto my room for a while longer. I am pleased that I don’t have to sacrifice time with my family, with my friends and with Jeremy, and will still get to see an elephant and get to spend time in the field.

A (rather too) friendly Brazilian youth that I met in the bus station traded seats to get to sit next to me on the bus. I was in for a long bus ride to Rio. When my taxi driver dropped me off at my hostel on Friday night, he remarked that I had chosen a very safe neighborhood that tourists don’t generally frequent. “How did you find this place?” he asked; I just credited my dear friend, the Rough Guide.

One with the Wright Brothers
I awoke on Saturday morning, somewhat annoyed to find that the hostel didn’t serve breakfast until 8:30, which was after I was to be picked up to go hang-glide. A guy picked me up and drove me to the landing area for all the hang-gliders, where the beach refreshment stands were just opening. I signed my life away in a release form and headed straight for a little beach kiosk, where I snagged a water and a granola bar. I asked if he had any fruit—he said no. Then, he thought about it—and asked me what kind of fruit I was thinking of. “A banana!” I said. The kind man gifted me one of his own bananas, true sources of potassium and of hang-gliding fortitude.

I hopped in a car with an Australian couple and a (different) guy drove us to the top of the mountain. I enjoyed hearing about the Australians’ visit; when asked what their favorite part of their trip was, they both enthusiastically said “favela tour!” in unison. I was curious but taken aback. More reflections on favela tours shortly.

Up at the launch area, I watched each hang-gliding pair prepare for take off, while waiting for my pilot to show. A cute little Portuguese woman showed up, and she was very nervous. She chattered to me about her grandchild that is to be born next week, and wondered out loud whether her shoes would fall of. “What do you think? Have you ever done this before?” she asked. “Nope.” I said. But I tried to smile a lot and reassure her that the probability was high that she would live through the experience and get to meet her grandchild and would hang onto her shoes. My pilot showed up. He was very tall, and we got suited up and practiced running together. I promised I would not grab his arm or get in the way of his steering. That seemed like a no-brainer…I guess people will do lots of counter-intuitive things when scared.

We stood on the launch pad for what seemed like forever…the wind was not cooperating. Several times, he lifted the glider and said: “prepare to run.” After what seemed like forever (my nervousness was totally gone by this point) we ran off the edge into nothingness. It was an incredible feeling. The ride itself did not last as long as it might have on a day with good conditions, but was unbelievable. And landing…man. What a rush!

Preparing for our landing....

I got dropped of back at my hostel, and, first things first: found a cup of coffee. I wandered around the neighborhood of Urca for a little bit, and then caught a bus down through Copacabana to Ipanema.

In search of the best sushi in the world

My uncle Diego (Antonio’s brother) lived in Rio for quite a while, so I knew when I asked Diego what there was to see and do in Rio, I might be in for quite a list. Sure enough…Diego provided me with all kinds of options, and lots of local contacts. Since I only had two days, I had to narrow it down a bit. Sushi is one of my very favorite things—thus, when Diego said the best sushi he had ever eaten was in Ipanema, this made the list of priorities. Especially since my hang-gliding adventure had left me hungry. There was only one problem: I knew the name of the restaurant, but had neglected to write down the name of the street.

Brazilian cities, like those of many other nations, are peppered with newsstands, or bancos de jornais/revistas. First thing I did was walk into one and shop for a map, while asking the guy about this restaurant. He had never heard of it, but gave me a general idea of where the restaurants were located. Off I started, in a Z pattern up and down the cross-streets of Ipanema. Bikini-clad beautiful women in cover ups, noisy tourists, hippie beach bums, freckled Scots, and small children. Arms laden with shopping bags from high fashion boutiques. Flowers on street corners. Man at newsstand number two (which was in front of a very high class mall…and was air conditioned), 20 or 30 minutes later, was much more helpful. I told him I was looking for the best sushi in the world at ‘Madame Butterfly,’ and his face brightened. “Two blocks that way, and take a left.” He said, after talking to me for a bit. It wasn't quite that easy, but thirty minutes later and a couple of conversations later, I had found it. It was nearly 3 PM by this time, and my lucky banana was not quite cutting it.

I partook of what may have truly been the best sushi in the world (thanks for the birthday gift of an expensive meal in Rio, Dad and Laura), while listening to a man and his daughter speak alternately in French and Portuguese over the savoring of their Japanese food. She was probably 8, and delicately opted for the fork.

Extremely satisfied, I headed out to the beach for the last couple of hours of daylight. Boys bounced soccer balls off of brown chests, and beach vendors selling all kinds of goodies…sundaes, grilled cheese on sticks, coconuts, beer, lemonade…paraded tantalizingly past. What a great place to people watch. I stripped down to my bikini and my whiteness and did just that.

Eventually, I tried to discreetly dig out the camera. I took a few pictures and tucked it away. A couple of minutes later, the middle-aged man sitting near me says: “Excuse me, but are you Brazilian, or are you a gringa?” I laughed, and claimed my nationality. He explained that he didn't think I had picked that camera up in Brazil. Turns out, he was an entrepreneur and had lived in Cambridge, MA for a while. We chatted for probably 30 minutes, and then I asked him to take my picture. We parted with hugs, and a promise that I would check out his website.

I caught a bus back to Urca, and called Ana, the personal assistant to Zeca, a friend of Diego’s who I had communicated with by email last week. Ana said that she and a friend would pick me up at nine for dinner.

Ana and her friend took me to a Lebanese restaurant by the lake. We ate lots of hummus and meat, and talked about the state of the world. When asked what they thought of favela tours (still on my mind from the Australian couple), I got the following response (paraphrased) from her friend: “I think they are disgusting. Poverty is something we should be ashamed of here in Rio—and instead, we are selling it to tourists who pay money to ride around in a jeep as if they are on a safari looking at animals. Except they are not animals. They are people. And their reality is not one that we should be advertising with rose-colored glasses.” I was glad I had trusted the uncomfortable sensation in my stomach when I thought about a ‘favela tour’.

The next day, I awoke and ate breakfast with a Brazilian guy and his French girlfriend, and another French guy who was a math teacher in Paraguay. When I told him what I was working on, his mouth dropped open: “I did my master’s thesis on the disappearance of cattle ranching traditions in Paraguay! Do you need any more people to work on your cattle project?” He asked. I laughed, and left him with my email, and the Woods Hole website. The whole conversation was an amusing mix of French, Portuguese, and Spanish—I was reminded to speak in Spanish with my Mom, Dad, A etc. while home.

I met up with Ana again around 11, and we took the cable car to the top of Pão de Azucar. Fantastic views, and continued great conversation with Ana. We decided that we were going to go to Porcão (one of the best steakhouses in Rio) for lunch…but alas, when we arrived there after picking up my bag, we remembered it was mother’s day. We settled for a mediocre churrascaria, and I enjoyed some good meat and the discovery that mother’s day is not so very different in our two countries. Yes, the grandmothers are led around with roses pinned to their flowery dresses that are in a one-size-too-large print—the mothers soak up the extra attention from their children, and everyone hangs on each other and comes together over the eating of too much rich food. Occasionally you hear little family eruptions that also occur on such occasions. We did not get offered the roses that were being awarded on our way out the door...I suppose we did not look motherly enough.

The view was so dazzling that I had to close my eyes, lest I be blinded by the splendor...

I could not have hoped for a better weekend in Rio. I am left with enough of a taste to know that I will want to go back. Special thanks go to Diego for hooking me up with excellent companionship when I would have otherwise been alone in a strange city. Alone, that is, if one can ever be truly alone in Brazil---

A celebration...

Of my birthday (belatedly) , Paulo's visit to BH, and my departure (preemptively).
A non-dark picture with me in it might be forthcoming from Britaldo.

odds and ends

A new york times article today had a close tie-in to one of my very favorite books: The Bridge of San Luis Rey. It temporarily made me think about changing professions and going into archeology. But I think I prefer real, living people.

I have been sitting in front of a computer a lot and do not have too many interesting tidbits to report from my own life, though, I am going to Rio de Janeiro this weekend before coming home next week, and I am going to HANG-GLIDE! Which has been a dream of mine for a very long time.