A city full of sights, beaches, sun, tiny underwear and bodacious behinds.
When we arrived in Rio the end of our South American adventure was really coming close; we were absolutely knackered, I was running terrifyingly low on money and the thought of home was becoming worryingly real. Our week in Rio was to be simple with a few aims in mind, to stay in Ipanema, to complete our tan for our return to England, to eat copious amounts of acai (a super healthy sorbet-esque desert/breakfast made of acai berries, granola and banana) and to see Christ the Redeemer.
(acai and all it's glory)
Having traipsed around the Ipanema district on a hostel hunt we finally settled for our first port of call, the Mango Tree Hostel (a beautiful, friendly, clean and fun hostel) just one block away from Ipanema beach and costing no more than most other disgusting hostels. However, there was a major flaw in our plan to stay here; there was only one bed for the remaining nights. Considering my financial issues Sophie stayed put and I found a hostel that highlights the saying ‘you get what you pay for’; the rancid Karisma Hostel housed me for two nights for £5 a night. I am not lying when I say I slept with my pocket knife under my pillow for fear of the Brazilian creeps that were lurking around. All in the name of squilla.
On the upside, my brother who works for British Airways arrived in Rio only a few days later for a short stop over and had invited us to stay with him in The Sheraton. Yes, The Sheraton I said – you know, the 4 star luxurious haven with a swimming pool, Jacuzzi, gym and Rio on your doorstep? Who cares about the worst hostel South America has to offer when you stay in The Sheraton after. It was a dream...
While my brother popped back to London with work for a few days (only to return 3 days later) Sophie and I grabbed Rio by the cojones and found the Christo, got our picture, admired the remarkable view and headed back to Ipanema.
During these few days I found myself falling head over heels in love with the city; beautiful people everywhere, wonderful weather, delicious food, great nightlife....the list could go on. Soph and I got so wrapped up in its atmosphere we even braved the lane of fitness obsessed folk and ran the length of the Ipanema/Leblon beach stretch, tops off and tanned. Running past skaters, cyclists, disabled people, old and young, men and women, tight rope walkers and strollers made me consider whether I was in an idealist's dream or whether these people really do care that much about their fitness. You would never catch a scene like it in England.
(Ipanema's fitness lane being used by all)
For that matter, nor would you find mass congregations on the beach of the tiniest swimming costumes my eyes have laid on in England. They seem to have such pride in their image and thus they flaunt it without qualms in the way. Bodacious boobs, bums, willies, six-packs galore!
So our time in Rio was spent hurrying between the most and least luxurious living conditions, being in awe of the Cariocas' (the people of Rio) confidence, fitness and beauty and then trying desperately to replicate it.
