Monday, September 6, Rio de Janeiro
The ride back to Rio was uneventful. About half way we stopped at a little road-side café over looking the ocean. The whole place was outside, just under a roof - a testimony to the mild weather in these parts. At the counter I found a variety of "fast-foods" available. I had some kind of triangular-shaped baked goodie that was filled with spicy meat. It was so good in fact that I went back for a second and only just got to the bus before it left.
At the Rio bus station, I looked for a place to change money but couldn't find one. Next, I went looking for the ticket office for San Joao del Rei - the next town I wanted to visit. I figured that if my credit card had arrived I would just take off in the morning or - heaven forbid - if it hadn't, there was still no reason to hang around as tomorrow was a holiday. If I didn't get the card today, it wasn't going to happen before Wednesday. Either way, there was no reason not to buy a ticket.
It was while I was getting my ticket that I realized something: everyone I had met in Brazil so far was very patient, even the ticket salesmen. Usually, people who deal with the public get to be impatient grouches and I'm not sure I can blame them. But here everyone just seemed so patient. When the ticket guy wasn't sure what seat I wanted - I had written "Janera direita" meaning "Right windows" and shown it to him - he just turned this computer monitor around and had me point. Every time I got a ticket it was the same. Anyway, I liked these patent Brazilians more and more. What a delightful place to travel.
Ticket accomplished I took the "Executive" bus back to Copacabana. This bus is more expensive - $R 3.00 (US$1.56) as compared to $R 0.80 (US$0.42) for the normal city bus - but both faster and air-conditioned. One thing that struck me odd about the buses was that you are given a ticket when you first get on, but they don't collect the money until much later when the journey is well under way.
Back at the DeBret I got the bad news: "Sorry, no package has come." Well ok, I was still solvent so there was no fear of having to sleep on the beach. It would just mean yet another stop back in Rio in 2 days time. Later I called FedEx and got the tracking number for my package. That was a good sign. It meant that at least the package was in the system. The lady at FedEx told me that my package wasn't in Brazil yet. Good lord, where the heck was it?
Next, I gathered up all my dirty clothes and headed out to a laundromat. Here the attendants, two middle age women, had loads of fun repeating, "Wash and dry, wash and dry." That's what I told them I wanted. They thought that hilarious: maybe because I said it in English or maybe just because they thought I was funny - who knows? Anyway, I passed the time talking to a young woman from Texas who was spending a couple of months in South America. She told me her mother was with her on this part of the trip. She also said that they weren't getting along very well today, so her mother was off on a city-tour while she did her laundry - ah, travel companions.
That evening I walked the whole length of Copacabana beach - about 3 miles each way -watching soccer and volleyball games along the way. I then stopped at one of the little stands for a couple of beers while I wrote in my journal. It was 28 C (80 F) and a wonderful evening to be sitting out.
Tuesday, September 7, San Joao del Rei
It was Independence Day in Brazil and the bus to San Joao del Rei was almost empty. This allowed me to sit on whichever side had the better view. First, as we rose into the hills behind Rio, we passed through lush, green forest. The road was carved out of the hillside and provided dramatic vistas first from one side and then the other. We then topped the hills and came to the dry, rolling plateau. Here I saw grazing cattle but very little agriculture. I took that to mean the soil was poor.
After a few hours we stopped at a restaurant clearly designed to service busloads of people quickly. As you walk in you are given a receipt. When you buy food and drinks it is then written on the receipt. Finally when you leave you must produce this receipt and pay accordingly. It was a very efficient system and we were back on the road in less than 15 minutes. I had another of those triangular-shaped goodies, but this one was filled with chicken - at least I think it was chicken. (If it wasn't chicken, I don't want to know what it was!). From here we continued to follow a wide four-lane as far as Barbacena where we turned onto a narrow, bumpy road for the last hour into San Joao del Rei.
At the bus station I stopped at the information desk but found that no one spoke English. Then, as I didn't know which local bus went into the center, I elected to walk the half-hour into town. The hotel I had picked from my travel guide was at the far end of town. As I walked along sweating, I wondered if I would get lucky and find a room or if the walk would be for naught.
In fact, I got a delightful room at Pousada Casarao for R$49 (US$26). The desk clerk didn't speak any English and there was a little confusion about how long I wanted to stay. I had it in mind to take a bus to a neighboring town, Tiradentes, the next day so wanted to stay two nights. Finally, we worked it out by pointing at a calendar. This was one of the nicest places I stayed in Brazil. It was almost a resort with a pool and game room, but still small and charming. I had a large room with a ceiling fan, although it cooled off in the evening and I didn't need it.
After dropping my bag I headed to the tourist information office just down the hill. I wanted to find out how to move on from here. The next town I was thinking about visiting was Ouro Preto and there was no direct connection. As I got to the tourist office a woman on the second floor asked, "Are you looking for the tourist office?" Ah English at last, but I got my hopes up too soon: that was about all she could say. Well, it was enough to get me in and to get me to sign her guest book - somehow that seemed important to her. Maybe that's how she showed she was doing her job. She gave me a city map and sent me on my way.
I walked out no better off than I had come in. As I was walking around taking pictures, I saw a couple reading what I took to be a travel guide. I was getting desperate for someone to talk to so I walked over and asked, "Do you speak English?" It turned out that they were from Germany and spoke passable English. Martin was an architectural student in Berlin and Sylvia was his wife. They were in their mid-20s.
It also turned out that they were planning to make the same day trip tomorrow and also thinking of moving on to Ouro Preto after that. We decide the best approach for finding the bus to Tiradentes would be to walk over to where the guidebook (we had the same one: Lonely Planet) said it left. When we got there some Brazilians told us that the bus actually left from the main bus station. Having nothing better to do we walked back out there together. At the station we quickly found the correct windows - there were only 8 or 10- and noted the times the bus left in the morning. On the walk back into town we decided to stop for a beer.
Martin suggested a place they knew close to the hotel they were staying. When we got there it was clearly not a place I would have picked: it was open to a busy, noisy street and next to a gas station. While I could never actually smell gas fumes, all night I watched cars being filled up - somehow it made me nervous.
Anyway, we had a good time. Their English wasn't all that good and it was necessary for me to choose my words carefully and to speak slowly, if I wanted to be understood. I'm afraid that as the evening progressed and we drank more and more beer, I started talking faster and faster. That meant that more and more I had to repeat myself, but we were having a good time and it didn't seem to matter.
Finally I realized that I had drank beyond my limit and was going to pay for it in the morning. As much as I love to drink, I also know from experience that I have a limit. Sadly, I usually realize this only after it's too late. Anyway, it was a lovely, quiet evening as I walked back to my hotel. We had agreed to meet at the bus station for the 10:30 bus to Tiradentes. That would allow me to sleep in tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 8, Sao Joao del Rei
In the morning I discovered I was right, I had drank too much. I felt sluggish and thickheaded - oh well, you think I would have learned by now, I'm 55 after all. The hotel dining room was set for 15-20 people, but I ate alone. The only person I saw was the waiter who brought coffee. I rarely drink coffee and didn't feel up to it today.
When I was done I walked back out to the bus station and bought a ticket to Tiradentes. Soon Martin and Sylvia arrived. When we got to Tiradentes, Martin offered to be our tour guide. That was fine with me: I was glad for the company and just wanted to look around - I didn't really care what I saw. After visiting a few churches Martin decided that we should look for a path to "the last piece of virgin rain forest in the area" - well, that's how the guidebook described it anyway. I had no interest in hiking but figured I would follow along and see if he could find it - I was betting he couldn't.
Our first stop was a fountain on the edge of town where we found a couple of young men playing guitar and singing sad Brazilian songs. After listening for a while Martin stopped an old man passing by and asked about the path but the old man didn't understand. He then asked a few more passersby and finally found a guy who seemed to know what he (Martin) was taking about. He motioned that we should follow him. I really didn't think this was going to work out and hung back. We walked into a mowed field, heading toward the opposite corner. When we got closer I could see there was a little gate there. The guy pointed at it and left.
Martin, without missing a beat, walked though it with Sylvia in his wake. I was about to see, "See ya later guys," but decided to hang in there a bit longer - the path looked interesting. It was narrow with a fence on both sides and a channel full of water running down the middle. The water, I suspected, ended up at the fountain where we had started. Anyway, I found the walking easy and continued the slow incline behind Martin and Sylvia. Before long we were in a densely forested area where birds chirped and insects buzzed - it really was lovely.
As we stopped to rest I noticed some movement in the trees above us. I looked up and could just make out some little creature peering down at us. It looked like a small monkey but I figure it was a marmoset, a close relative. As I looked more closely I saw another, and then another - there was a whole troop of them up there looking at us. I was thrilled. I had hoped to see some wild monkey on this trip and here they were. I immediately congratulated Martin for his tenacity in finding this path.
After awhile we continued. Now the path become wilder and soon narrowed to a little overgrown trail. Martin, of course, was all for continuing but Sylvia and I said, "See ya later, Martin" and stopped. Confronted by this rebellion Martin agreed we had gone far enough. On the way back down I looked for the lemurs again, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Back in town we stopped for something to drink while we waited for the bus back to Sao Joao del Rei. When we got back we decided to have something to eat and Martin, still in leader-mode, chose the same bar as last night. I was skeptical but much to my surprise they made an excellent pizza.
We had different agendas for the rest of the day and decided to meet at one of the town's churches in the evening. Martin had read they were going to have a concert. I spent my afternoon wandering around taking pictures. Sao Joao del Rei has lots of churches and old pastel-painted buildings. The business section is a buzz of activity, but one street back all is quiet.
On one of those quiet streets I saw a guy sitting on the stoop holding a Siamese cat. I stop to admire his pet - I had had a similar cat when I was a kid. He looked so happy with his cat I asked him if I could take his picture. I was kind of worried he would try to pose for my camera, but he just sat there and I got a wonderful picture of him and his cat in the afternoon sunlight.
The concert that evening turned out to be a bust and we decided to retire to a bar for refreshment, one of my choosing this time. I had seen a place by my hotel, on a quiet street overlooking the main church, so that's where we headed. The evening was balmy and we sat outside. We drank a few beers but my heart really wasn't in it after my over indulgence of the previous evening, so we retired early.
Now I had to make a decision: either to move on to Ouro Preto with Martin and Sylvia or to head back to Rio and see what progress, if any, my credit card had made. I told Martin and Sylvia that if they saw me in the morning they would know I was going with them. We shook hands and said good bye, just in case. They had been great company but I suspected I would head back to Rio and wouldn't see them again.
Thursday, September 9, Rio de Janeiro
I woke early and realized that I wanted to be alone. I decided to return to Rio and head north from there to Buzios, a little tourist town up the coast. After breakfast I took the local bus out to the bus station (I had finally figured which one went there!) and bought a ticket to Rio.
I slept on and off most of the ride back. At the Rio bus station I bought a ticket for Buzios. Then I got the "Executive" bus back to the DeBret where I discovered that my damn card still hadn't arrived. What was the deal? I called FedEx and they told that the package was here but that the hotel wouldn't accept it because I had left. What? I had repeatedly reminded the desk clerks that I was coming back. Oh well! I got directions to the FedEx office and took a city bus back to downtown Rio and (finally!) got my card. It had taken a week - seven days - to get here.
I walked around downtown some and then took a bus back to Copacabana. I had turned cool and I was running out of energy, so I took the evening off. First, I read in my room and then watched the bull fights on TV. Later when I got restless I walked the beach. Even thought it had cooled of it was still very pleasant to walk along the shore.
On the subject of bullfights: whenever I tell American friends that I watched a bull fight they always say the same thing, "Ugh, how could you?" Well, it's true: if you are going to root for the bull, you are going to be disappointed. It *always* ends poorly for the bull. But if you can put that aside and watch the matador, you will find real poetry and courage in his actions. He stands in that exaggerated pose, leaning out over his cape. (I finally realized why: he wants to keep the bull's sharp horns as far away from his soft belly as he can.) He faces that 4000 pound enraged animal and makes him move where and when he wants. Well, I found it fascinating anyway - sorry about the bull.
Friday, September 10, Buzios
I was back at the bus station early. Soon after we left, we crossed a long bridge and I was able see how big the bay really is. There were a large number of huge cargo ships lying at anchor and the bay stretched off in the distance with no end in sight. On the other side we drove on a wide four-lane through rolling hills for a few hours before turning onto a two-lane that took us into Buzios.
The bus stopped on the edge of town: on one side was a huge, empty field and on the other a small town. It wasn't exactly clear where the center was so I just headed in. I walked past low cottages, pass the post office and finally into a little commercial area. I didn't have a map so I was just walking around trying to get my bearings.
The area I wandered into was full of upscale tourist shops, restaurants and bars. As I was walked along I heard something very familiar, a song that I had been playing just before I left home. I walked toward it and found a bar in a courtyard surrounded by tourist shops. There were a couple of giant TV's on either side of the bar and on them was my all-time favorite country singer George Jones playing a song from his latest CD, Cold hard truth.
I was a little taken aback but walked closer, took my pack off and stood listening: ah, so far yet so near. When he was done I asked the barkeep, who of course spoke perfect English, what we were watching. It turned out to be some country satellite channel. I was delighted to hear old George, but also a little disappointed. I hadn't come 5000 miles to listen to the same music I can hear at home. I knew then that I had picked the wrong town to visit.
Anyway, I also asked the barkeep where I might find a room and he suggested a couple of places for me to try. I walked a bit father and found a wonderful little hotel called Vila Do Mar, right on the edge to the commercial area. It had a garden filled courtyard and I got a cozy little room for R$117 (US$61).
It had turned decidedly cooler and looked like it might rain. I didn't care: I figured I would do some shopping and then head back to Rio. I needed to get a couple of presents: one for Paula who's best known for proofreading my travelogues. She was the one who had sent me my credit card. I also needed to get something for Erin, a friend who was going to pick me up at the airport. And then there was mom - surely I should get something for her. I now had my credit card so I spent the afternoon shopping.
In early evening it started to rain. It made this little off-season tourist town seem lonely and empty as people huddled in open-front bars. This really wasn't the kind of place I would have chosen to spend my last few days in Brazil - it was way too hip and worldly. I guess I should have done a little more research before I chose it. I walked around a little, sat in the hotel lobby writing until I got cold and then went to my room and read - I was planning to leave first thing in the morning.
Saturday, September 11, Rio de Janeiro
I caught the 7:00 bus back to Rio and checked into the DeBret for the fourth time. I was really getting to like this place. The staff was real friendly, the location great and the rooms, while a little worn were comfortable. If you are heading to Rio and need an inexpensive hotel, the DeBret is for you. I paid R$99 (US$52) for a beachfront room and R$86 (US$45) for one overlooking the much quieter side street.
Still in shopping mode, I headed to a mall I had passed on the bus each time I traveled downtown. It turned out to be four floors of shops with all the standard goods: music CDs, clothing and home furnishings. Also there were several food malls and one even served the kind of baked treats I had eaten at the bus stops - so I paused and had one.
I'm not sure what I did in the afternoon: my journal's blank so it can't have been too interesting. Anyway, this is a good time to say something about safety.
Tell someone you are going to Rio and they will probably say the same thing: be careful. I had read these warnings in travel guides and government fact sheets, and heard them from fellow travelers and Brazilians alike. I took theses warnings very seriously and was super cautious the first few days, but then I decided they were overstated. I have no doubt that there are bad people in Rio, but I never met any.
I took the local buses everywhere I went and walked Copacabana beach as late at 10:00 at night and always felt safe. On the other hand, I was very cautious and always knew who was walking or sitting near me. I also follow the standard big city cautions: don't walk down empty streets and don't carry/wear flashy valuables - it's just common sense, isn't it? I also look to see if women are walking alone and, if they are, I take that as a sign that things are reasonably safe. Maybe I was smart, or maybe I was just lucky, or maybe Rio has changed - probably more of the latter than the former. Anyway, in the end I never felt any threat and all my experiences in Brazil were positive.
Sunday, September 12, Rio de Janeiro
Much to my surprise I ran into Roger and Sally again - at the hotel breakfast buffet. We said hello and expressed our surprise. They were getting ready to head to Argentina later in the day so we didn't have much time to talk.
I lounged around until about 10:00 and then took off for Ipanema, the next beach down from Copacabana. There was a big craft fare there, the Hippie Fare, that I wanted to see. I took one of the local buses and got off at the fair, but first walked two blocks over to the beach.
On Sunday they close off the beachfront road and it's full of joggers, power-walkers, bicyclers and skaters - you get the idea. It's wonderful to see the streets full of people instead of cars. I walked along enjoying the ocean breeze. It was considerably cooler today and there were heavy waves that kept everyone but the surfers out of the water. I walked a ways along the beach before heading back to the craft fare.
This turned out to be a great place to look for souvenirs. The goods ran from awful to excellent - I was interested in both. I picked up a few more things and then settled into some serious people watching. All along I had been surprised how few tourists, especially Americans, I had seen in Rio. I made up for it today.
The rest of the afternoon I took it easy. At about 5:00 I took the "Executive" bus back to the airport. Only two things stick in my mind about the airport: first, there is whopper US$36 exit tax. What a way to make money: "You want to go home? Give us some money."
Second, there was no place in the international departure lounge to change money - and the duty-free shops won't take your Brazilian money either. They only want US dollars. I couldn't believe this and sarcastically ask the clerk, "Am I still in Brazil?" Anyway, I warn you to make sure you get rid of you Rials before you enter the departure lounge otherwise you will be taking them home as souvenirs like I did.
Monday, September 13, Heading home
I had to change planes in Atlanta in the morning. At the check-in counter they took my ticket and told me they would call me in a few minutes. I had a sinking feeling that this meant trouble. Well, they didn't call me in a few minutes. Instead they made an announcement that they were over booked and asked for volunteers to take a later flight - they needed 30! They started by offering a US$400 voucher and, when that didn't work, they upped it to US$600. If I hadn't been so tired I might have been tempted.
As boarding time neared it became clear I wasn't going to make it: they were giving boarding passes to first class, full fare and frequent flyers and to not cheap fare folks like me. I sat there watching people boarding, getting madder and madder. I figured there wasn't much I could do about it, but I was going to bitch - at least I would have that satisfaction.
After the plane was loaded they made another announced saying they were sorry and offer compensation of either US$400 cash or a US$1000 voucher. I was still pretty unhappy, but as I stood in line waiting for my compensation, I was already starting to think of where I could go on US$1000. By the time they gave me my voucher and replacement ticket I actually thanked them. Can you believe it? They bump me and I thank them! Anyway, I spent my unexpected three-hour delay looking at the Delta schedule and planning my next trip.
As much as I love to travel, I love coming home more. When I got back to Detroit a good friend was waiting for me, an unusual treat as I almost always take the airport bus. It had been a great trip and I was also very happy to be home. What could be better?
Ann Arbor, Michigan
October 1999
Part One: Rio & Parati
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