I have a bottle of sugary-sweet Itaipava Malzbier (presumably some sort of Germans make that, though at 4.2% you'd wonder) and Sarah is nursing a tin of Skol (a more respectably 4.7% ABV). It's emptying down around us, poor exhausted little hallions, sitting in a hammock and watching life happen around our hostel. We're in a small establishment called Lisetonga. We're in Rio.
Rio in the rain is otherworldly. The whole city is doused in a gentle mist reminiscent of dream full of peripheral, unclear images and faces. The mountains, when you round a corner of a street and suddenly encounter one, rear up into the clouds, lush with trees and squeaking creatures. We have been warned our neighbourhood is a little noisy; so far there is little except the odd motorcycle beeping past. Rio, it seems, hides when the rain comes to play.
It doesn't stop Copacabana Beach being even more spectacular in the flesh. A darkening Saturday afternoon left a few beach-football players out and about, even the majority of hawkers seemed to have decided it was a lost cause. We dipped our white toes into the Atlantic (which was, misnomingly, baltic) and tried to take in having the beach to ourselves. A night spent dosing on the flight from Houston has done our sense of awe no favours. We sought out a small beer shop, and enjoyed a huge steakwich and pasties (local empanadas). The beer shop stocked 40 different Brazilian artisan beers. We were in Hog Heaven. Even our bank cards work again.
Sadly, however, this is no way to string out a pittance over six months, hence our snaking route back to the hostel, via the Oporto-esque hill, and retreat back to the tower overlooking the area. Lying back looking at the hills, the houses out of view, makes it seem like we are in the depths of the Amazon. Little capuchin monkeys scuttle across the electricity lines outside our window. They stare in and look you in the eye, then get back to whatever task they are in the midst of. Perhaps they are simply looking for shelter, much like every other inhabitant of the city.
Rio is enormous. It isn't as cheap as you would like. But in terms of atmosphere it is unparalleled. Across the hill musicians practice their chops for this evenings concerts. A girl has started to sing. Rio is undeniably alive.
Rio in the rain is otherworldly. The whole city is doused in a gentle mist reminiscent of dream full of peripheral, unclear images and faces. The mountains, when you round a corner of a street and suddenly encounter one, rear up into the clouds, lush with trees and squeaking creatures. We have been warned our neighbourhood is a little noisy; so far there is little except the odd motorcycle beeping past. Rio, it seems, hides when the rain comes to play.
It doesn't stop Copacabana Beach being even more spectacular in the flesh. A darkening Saturday afternoon left a few beach-football players out and about, even the majority of hawkers seemed to have decided it was a lost cause. We dipped our white toes into the Atlantic (which was, misnomingly, baltic) and tried to take in having the beach to ourselves. A night spent dosing on the flight from Houston has done our sense of awe no favours. We sought out a small beer shop, and enjoyed a huge steakwich and pasties (local empanadas). The beer shop stocked 40 different Brazilian artisan beers. We were in Hog Heaven. Even our bank cards work again.
Sadly, however, this is no way to string out a pittance over six months, hence our snaking route back to the hostel, via the Oporto-esque hill, and retreat back to the tower overlooking the area. Lying back looking at the hills, the houses out of view, makes it seem like we are in the depths of the Amazon. Little capuchin monkeys scuttle across the electricity lines outside our window. They stare in and look you in the eye, then get back to whatever task they are in the midst of. Perhaps they are simply looking for shelter, much like every other inhabitant of the city.
Rio is enormous. It isn't as cheap as you would like. But in terms of atmosphere it is unparalleled. Across the hill musicians practice their chops for this evenings concerts. A girl has started to sing. Rio is undeniably alive.
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