Yesterday evening I arrived here in Rio to be greeted by Rita (regular readers may recall the story of our meeting on Fraser Island) - and seconds after emerging from the bus station's multistorey car park I found myself staring through her windscreen down a long street, somewhere at the end of which rose green vegetation up and up and, atop of this towering hill, triumphantly looking down over the city and its millions of inhabitants below, stood the stone statue of Cristo Redentor - Christ the Redeemer - a monument like no other, that I immediately knew would represent my abiding memory of Rio.
Getting to this realisation involved a fair few journies, however, and my last update from Curitiba ended on one hell of a cliffhanger - we'd had a big night checking out some places that were not so much "exclusive" as "off the beaten track". Long story short, it was 5am before Luis and I were rolling back to his house, and it was 7am when our alarms were going off and we were up and out.
Why, you might ask, would be possibly schedule quite such a ridiculous plan? We found ourselves asking very similar questions, but it was very much a case of one thing leading to another. Flash back to the Whitsunday Islands diving cruise in Australia (where I'd first met Luis and his brother, Guillherme), and conversation about what to do in Curitiba included a "must-do" train ride through the semi-tropical jungle, descending from Curitiba's 1km above sea level altitude down to sea level and the old colonial town of Morretes. Being a must-do, and with the forecast crap weather holding up against the odds, our previous day's tour of the city's sights also included a stop at the train station to book ourselves on the morning's tour train. Departure: 8am. Discussion over whether this meant sacrificing the planned "big night" went something as follows:
Luis: "Maybe this means we don't have such a big night tonight?"
Dean: "Why, what time do you think we'd get home?"
L: "Er... maybe 4 or 5 in the morning?"
D: "OK, so we're gonna have absolutely bugger all sleep..."
L: "Exactly"
D: "Well... we could just man up..."
L: "Perfect!"
So that was that - 7am came with alarm bells ringing and two red-eyed twenty-somethings silently consuming suitably strong coffee; 8am came at we were safely on board the train and safely nodding off to sleep. Come 9am, however, and we were carving our way through some of the most stunning scenery you'll see on any train journey anywhere in the world - for me it immediately sent my mind racing back to the Bangalore-Mangalore train ride up through the Western Ghats back in October. The similarities were everywhere, in the tropical vegetation, the sweeping turns through sheer cliff faces and in and out of dripping tunnels, and all the while views out through lush green valleys, complete with muddy rivers trailing away into the misty distance tens of kilometres away from eyeshot. It is very much a case of photographic overkill, but I had that opportunity snuffed out sharpish thanks to my camera battery dying. Some half decent snaps will hopefully make an appearance on here at some stage... (although I did find the crappy promotional one to the right on Google).Morretes is a quaint little place - colonial towns like it are found all over Brazil and while the blend of cobbled streets, old buildings and quiet lifestyle is presumably a standard feature, each has its own unique charms. Morretes was nice and quiet on this, a Thursday, but the abundance of souvenir-based shops and stalls made it easy to believe Luis' assertion about the place being rammed with tourists at the weekend. Lunch was a fine affair at a riverside establishment regularly frequented by Luis - sampling the locally brewed cachaça on entry, followed by an excellent mix of local dishes ranging from meat to prawns, all washed down with some ice cold beer. Certainly not the cheapest meal you'll have in South America, but definitely worth the price.
The return bus journey was hella quicker than the train (to be precise, twice as fast), but I would be making up stories of the top of my head if I were to provide any further details about the journey. I barely remember getting on the bus, and remember absolutely nothing else before waking up as we pulled into Curitiba's rodoviária an hour and a half later. With time to burn and refreshed from a good kip, we walked around the city centre - managed to finally pick up a pair of Havaianas flip flops (the ortho-style ones I wanted/need are pretty hard to come by, compared to the normal ones with are sold ten-to-the-dozen in every other roadside store), and checked out the main central square before taking advantage of the city's famed public transport system to bus ride home.
The overnight bus to Rio was booked for 11.30pm, and a few hours kotching and packing left enough time for a final dinner Chez Hanninger, and a final drink with Bruno, Luis and the girls before rocking up for my bus about 30 seconds before it left. Fashionable to say the least.
And then there was the bus. News reports of a landslide on the highway between Curitiba and Sao Paulo, combined with the usual carnaval-related traffic surges between Sao Paulo and Rio, had all in all forecast the 13 hour bus journey taking more like 19 hours. Knowing that Rita would only be able to pick me up after work - around 6pm - this worked out perfectly for me... or so I planned. Sadly, as these things tend to go, the forecast delays were underestimated, and I finally rocked up at about 19:30, knackered (and presumably rather smelly) after a 20+ hour bus-laden extravaganza, and further smashed from the 30 minute walk around Rio's enormous terminal laden with bags trying to find Rita (who, sensibly, was waiting at the "arrivals" hall watching everyone come in. Less sensibly, and for reasons way beyond my understanding, I'd entered through some other door...).
And then we drove out, and I sat transfixed as Cristo Redentor looked down on us around every twist and turn between scenic mountains, golden beaches and raging street parties; all journey-based complaints forgotten as I slowly began to appreciate just why everyone who comes to Rio de Janeiro cannot get enough of it.
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