More from the Pantanal

As my last post packed in quite a bit I didn't manage to write as much as I wanted about the Pantanal, where I have been staying for the past five nights and from whence I leave today to go further south to a small town, Bonito, famed for its crystal-blue rivers packed with tropical fish and underwater caves. I will spend two nights there before heading to Bolivia and Peru - a change of plan from originally heading south into Patagonia, Argentina.

Morning boat trip on the Rio Negro

Cayman

The majority of the Pantanal is located in Brazil, in the states of Mato Grosso and Mato Grosso do Sul. A minority area of the wetlands crosses the border into Bolivia and Paraguay, and altogether the area is twenty times the area of the Everglades in Florida. Most of the Pantanal is privately owned, split between massive ranches each with 1,000s of hectares of land upon which their cattle herds graze. As mentioned in my previous post, on the 28th I rose early to travel by horse with Mancha (not Mancho as originally thought - Mancha means 'stain' as he has a birth mark on his throat) to the neighbouring ranch for the eagerly anticipated seventh annual 'Festa do Cavalo Pantanal' (Pantanal horse party). The ride over followed a path through thick jungle, with the horses nervous of the animal rustles within, fully-aware that they are not top of the food chain, despite the security of Mancha's pistol strapped to his hip in its leather holster.

Horse ride through the jungle

Essentially the event was a sports day for cowboys, testing a variety of skills that cowboys use in their daily routines of rounding up cattle and maintaining the ranch. Both a sporting and social event, everyone from the surrounding ranches attends, cowboys, wives and would-be wives and children, arriving on horse, tractor and trailer or both. The day was divided in two styles of events, with the midday interval providing a Churrasco (barbecue). A cow is 'sacrificed' for the event and cooked on long wooden stakes balanced over an open-pit fire. Meat here is cooked very well-done, so that it is dry and juiceless but still tasty. Guitarists and an accordion provided the traditional musical entertainment during the day, sitting almost cliche-like on three wooden stumps by the tractors.

7th Horse Festival

In the morning, the event was a time-trial assault course. First having to saddle the horse, the cowboy then galloped along a hundred metre stretch taking out his machete knife (all cowboys carry a leather holster at hip level on their back with two knifes, a smaller and larger one) to cut down three palm branches at twenty metre intervals. This seemed a pretty simple affair but surprisingly several cowboys missed them, and sometimes all three. They then had to slalom their horse through a set of narrow poles at the end of which hung a horn that was to be blown. Often cacophonous and hardly distinguishable from the rear-end of the horse. They then dismounted and chugged a large cup of Terere, the traditional tea that cowboys drink throughout the day through a metal straw. Then back on the horse and through a gate that had to be opened and closed without dismounting, and finally over a small jump the height of two levels of sandbags that would be laughable in European riding circles, but still made the horses nervous (horses are for work and are not used to jumping), and across the finish line. The second half of the day after lunch and some well needed napping in the hammock were one-on-one tournament races that included a sprint and turn around a barrel and then a series of weaving slalom before a sprint back to the finish line. This was the day's main event, and supposedly the cowboys practice all year in the hope that they are crowned champion. This provided some interesting watching, including seeing some downhearted cowboys beaten by women riders - the cowboy society is very macho, and would avoid losing to women at all costs! The last event before prize-giving was an amusing musical chairs, which, as you can imagine, is not that easy when you're on a horse and have to jump down to sit on the wooden stool with horse by your side.

The only Gringo in the village

Cowboy race

Mancha turning round a barrel

My other days were spent on the river kayaking or fishing for Piranha and Dorado, or on horse roaming the lagoons and jungles, managing a few gallops with cowboy Mancha on the plains. I managed to see a lot of wildlife including Caymans, Giant Otters, Capybara, Toucans (very cool with their long colourful beaks), Parrots, Foxes and several extremely strange looking mammals including a Giant Anteater.

Kingfisher

Piranha

Owl

Giant Otter

This morning I got up early at 5am to milk the cows in time to have it as yoghurt with my cereal and as milk with my coffee. Pretty cool experience, similar to squeezing a stress ball.

Now I'm off on my seven hour 4WD car ride through the Pantanal to get to Bonito.

Until next time,

BTW...

Sau Paulo, Trancoso, Pantanal

After a longer than desired sabbatical from the blogosphere, here we go again. Since my last post on 4^th November I spent until the 18^th November in Rio. The latter weeks in Rio were not as packed with new experiences as the first two, and somewhat explained my absence.  Since then I have not had regular access to the internet, and it is quite ironic that this post comes to you via satellite internet from the Pantanal in Western Brazil, a few hundred miles away from the nearest town. Given the slow connection I will not be posting pictures, although I now have quite the collection, and will add some once I have the opportunity.

The Pantanal

To be more specific, your correspondent sits in a hammock outside of his room in the dark at the working cattle ranch Barra Mansa, where he is the only guest given that it is low season. Marvin Gaye plays on his laptop, while the crickets and frogs sing along melodically. He has just finished his first day in the Pantanal, the world’s largest area of wetlands the size of France, and quite a day it was. Rising at 6am, the day began with a tugboat tour of the Rio Negro River, upon the banks of which the lodge is situated, with Carlos the native guide who speaks no English. The river is teaming with wildlife, from Caiman to Capybara (the world’s largest rodent), to 100s of different bird species and much much more including if you’re lucky the Jaguar, the holy grail of the Pantanal. The ambience, floating down the river, listening to the nature and taking in the tranquillity and remoteness of the surroundings was pretty spellbinding, all four hours of it. Midday lunch was followed by a good nap, and then a three-hour horse ride into the wetlands with Mancho one of the lodge cowboys fitted with jeans, leather chaps and cigarette in mouth – also an unforgettable experience. For this time of year the water level is surprisingly low, around two meters lower than usual. The weather has been dry and the cowboys are waiting for rain to freshen things up a bit, which given the thunderstorm outside seems to be arriving.

The last two weeks in Rio were spent consolidating my love for the city, experiencing a variety of nightlife, and meeting Cariocas while brushing up on my Portuguese, which is making slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Rio offers some very original nights out where emphasis is on dancing, music and fun and less of the big spending bottle spraying (although that can be found) that is more prevalent in Sao Paulo. A night in Casa Rosa (the pink house), previously a brothel at the foot of a favela was a night of particular note. Serving traditional favela food known as Fechoada (meat stew with cowboy beans and rice), and different rooms playing a variety of music, from Samba to Baila Funke to live western rock music, this really was a night to remember.

Unfortunately my last week in Rio did not provide the right wind conditions to finish my kite surfing course – I guess reliance on wind is the sport’s one downside. I managed to get in five hours of kiting and took one lesson in the water with the kite and the board, managing to get up out of the water but abruptly falling back in. Given the strong wind and my small kite of 6 meters, I should be able to get up with a 9-meter kite (bigger kite means more power and greater pull out of the water). Nevertheless, my instructor rose effortlessly out of the water with one fell swoop of the kite, and placing it in the 10 o’clock position cruised away, leaving me bobbing in the water to reflect on my inadequacy. I will finish my course when I’m back in Rio over the New Year period, weather permitting, and will practice what I have learnt in Florianopolis during christmas.

Sao Paulo

I left Rio on the 19^th November and spent the weekend in Sao Paulo, staying at Sacha’s apartment (the landlord in Rio), that he generously lent me while he and his roommates spent the weekend in Rio. The apartment was in the Vila Madalena area, a hilly more bohemian and atypical part of the city given its predominance of lower housing. The streets are lined with boutique clothes stores, coffee shops and restaurants, and at night the streets are packed with Paulistas (people from Sao Paulo) frequenting the multitude of bars. Friday evening I had dinner with one of the French roommates before he caught the midnight overnight bus to Rio, before venturing out solo to scope out the bars. Given that I am not a seasoned soloist, I envisioned a beer or two before hitting the sack. The night turned out to be one of the stranger nights of my Brazil experience, meeting a group of inviting Paulistas at a samba bar, dancing, eating at 5am, and then buying a collection of LP records from an old, but evidently well-seasoned salesmen – space in my bag had I not.

Sao Paulo’s allure surprised me having come from the seemingly unsurpassable attraction of Rio. The city certainly offers a different vibe to that of Rio, with a greater air of chic sophistication given its infamous world-class restaurant and club scene. The city is massive, with the metropolitan area home to 20 million people, and the largest population of Japanese outside of Japan at 2 million, hence the city’s reputation for excellent sushi. Monotonous white skyscrapers dominate the city, but near the centre some interesting architecture can be found. Saturday, rising with a kind reminder of the night before, I ventured towards avenida Paulista, the city’s most famous street to check out MASP’s (Museum of Art Sao Paulo) famous art collection, followed by a peruse around Jardims, the city’s ritzy shopping district, and a nice solo dinner that was much needed. Saturday night was comparable to Friday, but the Sunday reminder was not quite as forceful. Sunday I spent at a friend from Penn’s humble abode, and was invited to have lunch with his parents. Having tasted the bar scene on Friday and Saturday, on Sunday I was keen to experience a Sao Paulo club. I met up with a friend, Charles, who had arrived in Sao Paulo after a wedding, and with whom I would spend the next few days with his friends from Tufts Ilana and Alex in Charles’s house in Trancoso.

Trancoso

The 22^nd to the 25^th were spent in Trancoso in Bahia state with the three Tufts companions. It was nice to be back with familiar company, speaking a familiar language. We flew from Sao Paulo to Porto Seguro (where the Europeans first landed in the New World), and drove two hours south to Trancoso. Bahia state and its much-lauded capital, Salvador which I will visit at a later date, is known for its African influences, particularly in its cooking, music and dancing (Capoeira is practiced a lot), and Bahian natives have a darker skin colour than Cariocas or Paulistas. Charles’s house, is a fifteen minute drive from Trancoso in a beautiful new complex development set on the cliff tops that has attracted buyers from Paulistas and Europeans alike, with French accents as common as the frogs. The drive to Trancoso would take five minutes if it weren’t for the abysmal roads, that resemble something more likely to be seen on Eurosport’s motocross challenge – our Fiat midget performed admirably, although I was glad to have left earlier than the others and therefore not be responsible for its return to Hertz. The claim is that with such pockmarked roads, the large tourist buses cannot reach Trancoso, and therefore its charm is maintained. Charm it has in abundance.

The town itself is situated up on the cliff tops, overlooking some of Brazil’s best beaches (officially top ten in Brazil’s beach bible – yes I keep it in my bedside table and read it every night before going to bed). The centre of town is a car-free zone, and colourful boutique clothing and food stores surround the central grass square that is apparently home to two grazing horses. At the cliff-end of the square is a charming, small, all-white church, while at the town end, a small bar on wheels serving fresh Caipirinhas proudly displays a Bob Marley towel and plays Buffalo Soldier, and the chilled-out, hippy feel of the place is consolidated. But hippy prices these are not, with chic restaurants and shops charging Sao Paulo and London prices.

For the two days spent in Trancoso, one was spent in sunshine on a local beach, and the second we weathered strong rain to drive one hour for lunch on one of Brazil’s most famous beaches, Praia Espelho, and disappoint it did not despite the sun not being out. The first night, we dug deep into our pockets for dinner at a good fish restaurant where we met a group of Paulistas with whom we shared quite a memorable drink at the Bob Marley wheelie-bar afterwards, which included dancing and talking with (as far as I could) an old fisherman maybe in his sixties who was born in Trancoso and had lived there all his life. He told me that for him Trancoso was the capital of the world – and if I’d been smoking what he had, I’d probably have believed him!

Getting from Porto Seguro to the Pantanal was quite a journey that involved a 3am flight, two further connections and a six hour 4WD drive on a dirt road. But all well worth it.

Enough of slapping the mosquitoes while I frantically type this out. Tomorrow morning is another early one, when I will be riding over with Mancho by horse to the neighbouring ranch (by neighbouring that means half an hour car ride and two hours by horse power), where they are hosting a day party with a Churrasco and a tournament involving different games with cowboys and their horses. A standard Sunday for me.

Howdy.

BTW…

Rio: Cidade Maravilhosa

Sunday was Election Day, with the whole country obliged to vote. Considering that in Dilma, Brazilians had elected their first female President, I expected some sort of celebrations. But I noticed nothing until reading on the internet that Dilma had won, and even then the occasional car honk could perhaps have been taken as a salute to victory, but otherwise nada. The country is divided as to the result, with the rich disappointed and the poor allowing themselves to maintain their hope.

On Tuesday I ventured into Rocinha, South America’s largest favela or slum. I went with two friends, one a local carioca who does social work with the children. Because most favelas are built on the hills in Rio as originally illegal settlements, visitors and residents alike arrive at the bottom and take a motor taxi up the steep, narrow and winding streets. This was an experience in itself. Motor taxis are motorbikes driven by favella boys who make 2 Reais (just over a dollar) per drop-off (this may be different for locals who are unlikely to be able to afford that amount). Our particular drivers thought it would be funny to scare the shit out of the three of us, deciding to race up the hill through the favela, narrowly missing crashing into each other, oncoming cars, pedestrians, cats, dogs and chickens. The roads (if you can really call them that) are teeming with motorbikes and people, and ravaged by potholes and bumps. Clinging on to the back of the Honda (Hondas seemingly run the favela), I convinced myself to relax, trust that this guy had done it before, and enjoy the experience. 

The favelas occupy some of the most impressive views in Rio, and despite the enormous contrast with the wealth, glamour and vanity of Zona Sul (Ipanema, Copacabana, Leblon) from which they arise, they are functioning, standalone and self-sufficient towns. In some corners there is a pungent smell of sewerage, and in others a quick glance will reveal a man casually slinging a machine gun (drugs provide income for the favela and guns provide protection). Despite having calmed down over recent years, conflicts between police and drug gangs in the favelas are ongoing, with shootouts not unheard of. In the main square there are all kinds of goods being sold, and a hodgepodge of colours and ages walking the streets. Recently some colour has been brought to the otherwise mundane brick structures. Electricity wires hang overhead like knotted spaghetti, and house walls are often nonexistent, left open to the maze of alleyways that intricately connect the slum. While cramped and seemingly disordered, there seems to be a method to the madness. Evidently there is a desire for the favelas to rise out of their state of poverty with Brazil’s strong economic growth, but people don’t seem to be trampled upon by their walk of life. Dilma will continue to pursue the leftist policies of her predecessor Lula, who strongly supported the poor with novel policies, promising to significantly reduce poverty within her term. I was happy to come out of my little City of God experience in tact with camera and phone in hand, although the motor taxi driver did short change me and sped off before I could count it.

Living in Rio is like living on a movie set, a continuum of surreal and magnificent images. This last week I have managed to fit in quite a bit. A Portuguese lesson by a waterfall in the last remaining virgin rainforest around Rio (virgin in that it has not been previously cut down and grown back like the rest), followed by a bike ride around the lagoon. In the evening a football match between Brazil’s most followed teams Flamengo v. Corinthians. Despite the stadium being less than half full, no English game I’ve been to comes close to the atmosphere here. Chanting and singing is non-stop. Even when a goal is conceded, a quick pause for thought, a brief acknowledgement of concession, and then straight back into the swing of things before the ball is even at the centre spot.

Sport is an integral part of life here, every opportunity is spent on or around the beach, and on sunny weekends finding a spot is near impossible. The variety of sports played on the beach cannot be counted on two hands. Running here is easy given the distractions that pass you by, and I surprised myself with a 15km run to the end of Copa beach and back that was more pleasure than pain. Stopping off on my return for a cold coconut I briefly lingered to watch the floodlit beach football. Fancying my footie skills I thought maybe I’ll ask to give it ago – a few dazzling stepovers, flicks and shimmies later (some of which I could not do on grass let alone sand), I thought better of it and was on my way. I have had three kitesurfing lessons, and can now control the kite in the water. Next lesson, when wind permits, I’ll be using the board for the first time and getting up out of the water accompanied by a motorboat. Watching from shore the mixture of grace, power and manoeuvrability, I think addiction will fast set in. The sight of a launch off with a 12-metre kite connected 20-metres away, an effortless cruise across the broken waves and then cool as anything a tug on the bar, a catch of the wave, and a backflip grab, would beat even the most intricate of Michel's leveraged buyout financial models. The bus ride back from the surf beach to Zona Sul is about twenty minutes on a good day, and that too was an experience in itself. Policy here seems to be that if you can fit in the bus, you’re on the bus - there is no maximum limit and the driver will even drive with open doors if someone is brave enough to cling on from the outside. While pressed against the front windscreen and concentrating on not flying through it as the driver raced down the impressive sea front highway, I noticed a man from a favela wearing a pink cap with ‘TOMBOY’ embroidered on it - maybe they’re not so badass after all.

There are a lot of different options for going out, with some good clubs, bars and hidden samba spots. For the Halloween weekend I went to a very chilled out, hippie birthday party a friend of mine was throwing at his girlfriend’s place in Santa Teresa, a very different part of Rio set on a hill and with a colonial vibe to it. After, I went to a club that was having its opening night. One thing that is incredibly frustrating about going out is the ridiculously bureaucratic system they use for ordering and paying for drinks. Entering a club involves showing ID, entering it into the system and taking a digital photo. They then issue you a card or piece of paper that is swiped or ticked off every drink that is ordered. No cash is paid at the bar to ensure that the least amount of people have contact with the money. Instead, you queue to order your drink on credit never knowing exactly how much you have racked up. Losing the card makes the whole process infinitely more complicated, especially if someone finds it and charges drinks to you. At the end of the night when you finally just want to go home, you queue again to settle your bill at the single checkout point with everyone leaving at the same time, with the receipt finally providing your exit ticket. A caveman could have come up with something more efficient.

Despite the notorious crime rate and stories of muggings in Rio I have yet to feel threatened whilst here. People do still get mugged, some multiple times, at knife or gun point and mostly by favela residents. In general, to avoid such events, people are dressed casually with little emphasis on bling. Cops are still crooked and supposedly target foreigners, often planting drugs to coerce a bribe. An English guy I met took a bus up into Rosinha at 3am to buy some weed before heading home (stupid in itself) and was pulled over on leaving. Faced with the threat of arrest he offered a bribe, to which the two cops humbly obliged. ATMs close at midnight here to reduce the threat of late-night muggings, so he was taken to the petrol station to swipe his card for a petrol purchase, with $300 cash returned. After refusal to pay more, the cops accepted and friendly banter pursued, followed by them giving him back his weed........and everything else they had confiscated that night. So effectively, he ended up buying weed off the cops.

Food is decent here with the staple diet rice, beans and chicken, but generally standard affair is pretty greasy, with a lot of pastry and melted cheese. Meat is almost always good, although I have yet to visit a Churrascaria. There are good restaurants but often with absurdly cheeky prices that don't match the quality of the food. Rio is not a cheap place by any means, especially with the Brazilian Real so strong. Real estate is no exception with apartments on the Ipanema and Copa beachside avenues some of the most expensive properties in South America, with prices rocketing in the past 5 years. The new areas for investment are closer to the centre of town where development is still behind.

Sao Paolo didn't happen last weekend, but I'll be heading over there one of the next weekends. Sao Paolo and Rio are viewed as equivalent to New York and LA, one a concrete jungle with great nightlife and culture, the other a less stressed, outdoor beach lifestyle. In the meantime, to get a taste of what this city has to offer, the Rio campaign video for the 2016 Olympic games - Cidade Maravilhosa. Definitely could see myself living here, but temptations and excuses abound not to go to work.

BTW...

Arrival in Rio

I've been in Rio de Janeiro (River of January) a week now, and it's time for my first post. First, a little background as to the reasoning and general justification for this five month trip - one month in Rio and four travelling solo around Brazil and down to Argentina. My dad once gave me a quote from Shakespeare that stuck with me. What is essentially a less cliched and extended 'carpe diem', provides a good summation of my desire to experience this adventure:

"There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures."
(Julius Caesar Act IV Scene III)

......and fuck losing those ventures!

As to why I chose Brazil, it was a fairly obvious destination for me. Wanting to combine travel, adventure and culture with learning a new language and skills (I'll be learning Portuguese and Kitesurfing while in Rio) within a country that oozes a joie de vivre, China was not one to spring to mind. Brazil on the other hand.....with its cultural diversity, weather, vast and varied landscapes, outdoor culture, bundas (literally 'ass'), football, music, dancing, economic potential, current political climate (Presidential elections are 31st October).... was pretty much a no brainer. Three conversations with my mates Sam C, Dan S, and Henry C who had all experienced Brazil, consolidated my choice of destination. Originally planning to come back to London for the end of February, on closer inspection carnival is on the 5th-8th of March, and that was something not to be missed......then of course a few days rest, and so March 14th it was for the return flight.

I arrived in Rio on the 19th October five hours later than scheduled. Within a mere half hour of landing in Sao Paolo late for the connecting flight, I experienced what I have now been warned is the Brazilian tendency towards bureaucracy, procrastination and the blaming of technology and others for failures. But being relaxed with a general sense of laissez-faire is as much a part of their blood as haemoglobin, I have come to realise. This attitude sits well with me.


Apartment location and map of Rio

In Rio I am staying in an apartment dubbed the 'Ipanema Penthouse' that I found through a friend at Penn (Dan M if you're reading this many thanks), and it's the absolute perfect spot for the month that I'll be spending here. It's located in the tree-lined Posto 9 (Nove), half a block from Ipanema beach and with a balcony view of the beach and islands. I'm living with five others who I hadn't met before, each one very nice, and after a week there's a good bond between us.

Posto Nove with the two brothers in the background

Sacha is the 24-year old French landlord who after finishing his masters at Columbia moved out here and is living with his Norwegian girlfriend Hanne, who models and is taking an online Finance course. He has setup a company in Sao Paolo, and they switch between Rio and Sao Paolo for work, and aim to create the best flat share in Rio. No doubt they are already there. Lloyd, a 33-year old Aussie has lived in over eight countries and is spending two months in Rio, combining it with weddings he is attending. He is now writing a research paper on not-for-profit companies, and later plans to launch an independent political party in Australia. Mark is 40 from Berlin and is spending a month in Rio having spent some time here before and is writing a book on the history of Bossa Nova music, which emerged from Samba music in the '60s and particularly around the Ipanema area. Perhaps the most famous song is 'The Girl From Ipanema' by Antonio Carlos Jobim and written by Vinicius de Moraes after whom the street we are on is named. In the '60s and even now, the big Bossa Nova artists acclaimed legendary status (the Frank Sinatras of Brazil), and Mark has been sitting down and interviewing those that are still alive, with some pretty epic stories to tell I'm sure. Laura, 22 is from Frankfurt and studied in San Diego and is now looking for a job here while learning Portuguese. So quite the cultural mix, with German, French and Portuguese being flung around. Arlette, from Rio, keeps us all in order and is here 6 days a week - a must given that we all share one bathroom. Each of us has a room to ourselves with a double bed, there is a balcony with a beach view, and a newly painted bar that we christened on Saturday with a Caipirinha drinks party.

Sacha and Hanne at the bar

Rio is an interesting and diverse city, divided into several different areas each with its unique vibe. Bosa Nova bars and beach vibes in Ipanema and Copacabana, boutiques and PUC university in Leblon, Samba in Lapa, bohemian life in Santa Teresa, old town and business in Centro, Baile Funk music in the Favelas. There is one constant, the insatiable desire to dance, party and be merry. The Cariocas (Rio natives) are a passionate bunch, passionate about their bodies, passionate about their sports, passionate about their country. The Brazilian flag is omnipresent - on towels, on trunks (Sungas are the skimpy speedos that people wear), in bars, on cars, on bodies. I have noticed that there is a prevalence of tattoos - here, more so than other places, your body is your temple and you enhance it with whatever means possible (Brazil has one of the highest cases of plastic surgery). Brazilians drink beer ice cold, and the bottles come in a cooling sleeve accompanied by small glasses. Rather than one beer each, sharing a bigger bottle ensures that it always stays cool - cool is never far away in Rio. Sunday, I headed up to the bohemian Santa Teresa with a friend, Mark and his girlfriend, to watch the local derby football game on TV between Flamengo and Vasco de Gama (there are four teams in Rio the others being Fluminese and Botafogo, Flamengo being the biggest). Players swap shirts at both half-time and full-time, and give half-time interviews which is unheard of in Europe.

Since I've been here the weather has been mixed, but always around 25 degrees Celsius (77 Fahrenheit), most days are slightly cloudy, one has been clear blue skies, and it has rained once or twice - summer here is the rainy season, and in a few weeks the mercury should begin to rise. Rio is all about being outdoors, and on a sunny day even during the week the beaches become packed with Cariocas looking to tan, play kickup football, futevollei (a mix of football and volleyball played with anything but hands), surf, swim and workout on the workout bars. Down the road in Leblon there is a Venice Beach style gym on the sand that is free. Ipanema (Indian for 'bad, dangerous waters') beach is divided in to 'postos', with each area of beach home to a different mix of people. Posto 9 is the hangout for the most lithe and tanned bodies (ehem, that's where I live), posto 10 for sports lovers, posto 11 the pot smokers hangout (pot is bought in the favelas and is pretty liberalised here), posto 8 is where the favela kids come to splash about. Copacabana beach, which is longer and part of the bay (Ipanema is on the Atlantic so cleaner) is more of a hodgepodge and has a few more tourists. I have yet to explore Copa beach, but plan on doing so now that I have borrowed a bike. Sipping cold coconut juice fresh out the shell, or a freshly blended suco (fruit drink) is a standard affair not just on the beach, but all about town with suco bars on every corner. Açaí is a berry that is popular here, either blended with granola for breakfast or mixed with other fruits for a delicious smoothy. Cariocas tend to drink ice cold beer as liquor is expensive, but cachaça, a product of fermented sugarcane and similar to Aguardiente in Columbia, is the spirit of choice, served straight or with crushed lime and sugar in a Caiparinha, the Brazilian national drink.

On Friday, I headed up to Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) to see Rio's iconic statue of christ that stands 700 meters above the city at 38 meters tall, built in 1931. On a clear day (there is usually a haze over the city), the views of the city are impressive with Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf Mountain) and Maracanã, the famous football stadium, as well as the beaches and surrounding lush mountains, in full view. While definitely packed with tourists, Christ is as impressive as his UNESCO world heritage site status.

Cristo Redentor and some big statue

On my return back to the apartment I received a call from my kitesurfing contact here, Martin, who was heading out with a buddy to kitesurf in the next bay a short drive away where the wind had picked up. As is the tendency to be spontaneous in this city, I hopped in the car with the two pseudo-Californians (both have lived in San Francisco a while and have picked up the rad accent and surfer looks - neither of them are) and headed to Barra de Tijuca to watch them catch some waves, run on the beach and take some pictures. I also setup my 10-hour course that I'll be taking, and am only waiting for the next day for the conditions to be right to start my first class flying the kite. Supposedly, once completed I'll be up and kiting in no time, ready to practice in the idyllic waters of the North later on in my trip.

Kitesurfing on Barra de Tijuca

I have experienced a variety of nightlife here. My second night, after a flatmate dinner, Lloyd hooked up some tickets for a Diesel (the brand) launch party for their new 'be stupid' campaign (in my opinion a stupid campaign). The crowd was one of trendy and celebrity Cariocas with paparazzi in tow, and given the free drinks it turned out to be quite a night, experiencing my first taste of Lloyd's outrageously active dance moves (more like a very intense workout session), from which you want to keep well away lest you catch an elbow or fist to the face. The party took place in a plush mall at the bottom of a hill above which sprawls one of the biggest favelas in Rio. Favelas in Rio are generally up on the hills with ocean views, ironic in that they occupy what would in the West be the highest priced real estate. I have yet to enter a favela, but Alette has apparently invited us for dinner one night, and I'm excited about that. Apparently the Baile Funk parties (aggressive Favela music) are a spectacle not to be missed, with the hosts very accommodating to those looking for something different. Thursday night I went with Laura and Mark to the university area where the students congregate in the street, sipping on beers, smoking weed and chatting about the up coming elections, tomorrow's football game or the newest graffiti installation in Centro. Friday was a club night with Lloyd downtown hosted by a DJ from Sao Paolo, Saturday we had Caiparinhas at the apartment, and Sunday I went with my friend Mark and his girlfriend to a Samba bar in Lapa to practice my moves - there's small room for improvement, but no sore thumb.

I've been cooking at home quite a bit but have flavoured the typical rice, chicken and beans dishes that are popular here. In the morning, an espresso and suco are the perfect start to the day before either heading to the beach, to one of the attractions, a bike ride around the lagoon or through the botanical gardens, browsing the stores around Ipanema and Leblon or heading to Bajja de Tijuca for the various wind and surfing sports (including hangliding and paragliding). Yesterday I had my first Portuguese class with Roberta who I met through Dan M, concentrating mostly on conversation - having taken Italian, Spanish and French, I'm finding it a little tough not to confuse them and the accent is altogether different. Tomorrow morning's lesson will take place in the waterfalls in the hills above Rio. This weekend I'll be heading to Sao Paolo to visit a friend from Penn and heading to the beach with him.

Next post I will have the next two months of travelling planned out I hope. The plan is after Rio to head northwest into the Marshlands of the Pantanal (featured in Planet Earth) and stay on a finca (a farm) for a week, then south along the border with Paraguay to the Iguaçu falls that divide Brazil and Argentina. Then down to Patagonia in the south of Argentina, and up back in to Brazil or Uruguay for christmas, my birthday and new year's. Travelling will be part river boat, part bus and part plane. All still to be planned.

That's it for now. Até a próxima vez. See above slideshow for links to photos, I'll be posting more.

BTW...