Jackie

Jackie Steves is guest-hosting her Dad’s blog with 17 posts in 17 days. Follow the adventures of Andy and Jackie Steves as they ‘ the first Steves to venture into South America ‘ report on their experience.

In the same time zone but in another hemisphere, I am now back at Georgetown University, beginning my junior year of college.

When I tell my friends what I did over the summer, most of them ask what it’s like down there, as if that portion of Latin America mystifies them. I tell them that Machu Picchu is, in fact, not overrated, and that its ancient majesty and sacred surroundings live on. I tell them that tango in Argentina must be the most sexually alluring, yet dignified, art form ever invented. I tell them that Brazilians are masters at life: lovers of dance, song, progress, beauty, tradition, and love itself. I tell them that paradise can be found on a small island off the coast of Brazil, rimmed by perfect yellow-sand beaches and small sailboats, but not a single car.

Half of my friends are studying abroad this semester. People are surprised when I tell them I am not studying abroad. I must be crazy, right? Andy had what he calls “the time of his life!” while in Rome. Everyone else I know who has studied abroad raves excessively about the unforgettable adventures they had.

So what kind of Steves doesn’t seize the opportunity to study abroad? I realized I can eat my cake and have it too. I want eight full semesters of Georgetown classes, to which I have developed an awful addiction (I know, I’m a nerd). As for the summers, while I revel in my fond memories of South America, I have already begun scheming for next summer…

Europe served as my training wheels. South America was my kid bicycle. What will be my motorcycle?

Jackie Steves is guest-hosting her Dad’s blog with 17 posts in 17 days. Follow the adventures of Andy and Jackie Steves as they ‘ the first Steves to venture into South America ‘ report on their experience.

We will miss this colorful, spirited city. Enlarge photo

Enlarge photo

Our last full day south of the equator was bright and clear. Cramming all of Rio’s important sights into the space of two days paid off by affording us a leisurely day. We metroed to the Hippie Fair in Ipanema. All the things I wanted to take home with me were too big to carry: a hammock, big bright painted murals of the favelas with jazzed-up colors, and intricate wooden chairs.

We bused it down the coast a bit to Posto 9, perhaps the most famous stretch of beach in the world. This was right by the bar where “The Girl from Ipanema” had been seen and written. The sand around it was carpeted in towels and beach chairs. I wondered out loud why people would come here if they had the option of less crowded beaches. Andy astutely pointed out, “It’s all about seeing and being seen.” Yes indeed, women showed off their tanned assets in itsy-bitsy thong bikinis. Men showed off their football-toned bodies in little Speedos many American men wouldn’t be caught dead in.

We walked along the water’s edge checking it out. We had our sights set on Leblon Beach, just south of Ipanema, quieter as well as very nice, in an upscale neighborhood.

The clouds cut our beach time a bit short, and we walked the several miles all the way back to our hostel enjoying a mild temperature and the promenade running all the way along the beach bustling with active locals.

We had grown to love small hole-in-the-wall restaurants here that serve simple fare of meat, rice, French fries, the occasional pizza, and big bottles of local beer.

We had heard quite a few hostel friends rave about the fun they’d had at the “Favela Funk Party.” We were very speculative at first. Going to a party in the slums? Gruesomely violent images from the film City of God surfaced in my imagination. Our friends would reassure us about safety and how the facilitating company totally takes care of you. If it’s safe enough for them to run, and tons of tourists partake without trouble, then it must be safe. So we paid our 30 dollars for a ride on what we decided would surely make for a memorable cultural experience.

They corralled us all into a big van. I agreed with Andy that it felt like a hen (English bachelorette) party with the majority of passengers excited, talkative British girls. The only exceptions were two very nice Brazilian cousins from south of São Paulo. The guy running the service clearly got a kick out of shuttling gringos to favelas because he gave us a sarcastically ominous pep talk and issued a spat of semi-serious rules. About 20 minutes into the ride, as we entered what looked like the favelas, all the loud high-pitched British voices were suddenly dampened.

They unloaded us right in front of the club, and I felt like we were a young naïve school of fishes in a scary sea of young people we didn’t know what to think of or how to act around. We entered the big warehouse of a club and a headed immediately for the VIP area upstairs that we gringos had special access to. When Andy wanted a drink we had to first go buy a drink ticket from the vendor person who sat behind protective glass. It was by no means a full bar, just a few basic options.

We took on the dance floor with a bit of trepidation. Soon it felt just like any other club, except that our white faces stuck out a bit and the local guys were shirtless. For several songs lines of these shirtless guys danced a choreographed line dance. Hip-hop/line dancing is definitely something I haven’t seen before. They were good! And fast!

We ran into our favorite Ilha Grande girlfriends again! Again, small backpackers world! By 2 or 3 am the fabulously flamboyant MC invited about a dozen people on stage for a dance-off. They really know how to shake it. By 5 am I was so danced-out I slept the whole van ride home.

The next day, during our last few hours, we strove to soak up as many final Rio sun rays as possible. Today, Copacabana (our own neighborhood) beach. This time we knew how to get our hands on the beach chairs, how to order my new favorite açai smoothie at a corner juice stand, how to stand our ground in the aggressive undertow of the surf, and how to pay a cheap price for a beautiful lunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where all the neighborhood’s grandpas like to hang out having beers all times of day. It finally felt like we knew how to work this city, and now we had to leave. But I plan to stow away these insights because I definitely want to return to my new favorite city, the lovely Rio de Janeiro.

Jackie Steves is guest-hosting her Dad’s blog with 17 posts in 17 days. Follow the adventures of Andy and Jackie Steves as they ‘ the first Steves to venture into South America ‘ report on their experience.

Elvarado met us once again the following morning for a full-day tour. He drove us in his car to our first stop: the Christ the Redeemer Statue on Corcovado Mountain. Rio is such a fascinating sight of a city I would be content just riding around all day watching it out a car window.

The wind parted the clouds just long enough for us to have a few Kodak moments. I love this statue. While many crucifixes show a suffering, slouched, dying Christ, this one is strong and resolute, showing that while Jesus was crucified, he was actually not defeated. Sacrificing his life was a tremendous feat of strength, and the bold posture of Christ the Redeemer is a great representation of that.

On the tram ride back down from Corcovado (through reclaimed tropical forest), a quartet of samba musicians played for us. A few Brazilian passengers on board raucously joined in a fun verbal interplay. When the man singer passed out a shaker, I realized the interactiveness of this musical genre. I envy Brazilians for their playfulness and tendency to spontaneously break out in group song/dance.

Elvarado drove us north along the coastline, breaking to show us his favorite beaches. Each of Rio’s beaches has its own personality ‘ anything from famous to secluded, wealthy to poor, wild waves for surfers to calm surf for kids.

Maracanã, their beloved football stadium that holds such a sacred space in Brazilian hearts, didn’t do much for me and Andy, who have very little to do with soccer since we stopped playing in middle school. It is fun, however, to marvel at a city that is so wholly devoted and in love with a single sport. While in the States, the most popular sport seems like a toss-up between baseball, American football, and basketball, here one sport dominates. That’s soccer.

Everything is an all-out team sport for Brazilians: their overwhelming shared love for soccer, their breaking out in joint song, and their devotion to putting on the world’s biggest three-day party every Mardi Gras ‘ Carnaval.

We visited their Sambodromo, a long, massive, one-sided concrete stadium. Its sole purpose ‘ to house the Carnaval parade. Seats are very plentiful, but their extremely high price demonstrates how much Cariocas prize their celebration. In the small, adjacent museum we saw a few examples of the extravagantly showy costumes worn by the samba schools in the parade, made new each year! We also viewed a video recording of the event ‘ unreal! Puts all other parades I’ve seen to shame.

I had apprehensions about this huge space-rocket-shaped construction that claimed to be a cathedral. They were all dispelled, however, once I walked inside the Nova Cathedral to see a bath of natural light colored by gloriously large stained-glass windows on all four sides soaring up to a great height as if in praise of God. The shape that reminded me of a rocket ship actually represented a bishop’s hat. A great wooden cross was awesomely suspended over the altar. Among the sculptures of saints decorating the quadrants of the cathedral, that of St. Francis particularly spoke to me with its dynamism and grace.

Our final destination with Elvarado was Sugar Loaf Mountain, yet another high viewpoint of the city. You know you are in a truly beautiful city when two of its main tourist attractions are high above on the mountains to offer views of Rio. We rode two cable cars up to this funny-shaped mountain. Clouds interfered to limit our visibility, so the $25 we each paid was a bit of a waste on this cloudy afternoon.

Despite being exhausted from getting only a couple of hours sleep the night before, we knew it was our last night to see Lapa in action (the next night was a Sunday and then we would fly home on Monday). So we rallied to return to our new favorite nightlife hotspot for the second night in a row. We shared feijoada, the traditional meat and black bean stew here. Salty, but good. We had finally found out that most entrées here were plenty for two people, which really helped our budget. We wandered around people-watching and peeping in on bars with samba bands playing. If only the nightlife was like this in Georgetown (where I go to school)!

The Christ the Redeemer Statue on Corcovado Mountain.	Elvarado and Andy looking out upon Leblon Beach.
Sambodromo, the Carnaval parade’s main venue.	Nova Cathedral.
One of four huge stained-glass windows inside the Nova Cathedral.	St. Francis statue inside the Nova Cathedral.
The Lapa Steps by Selarón.	Sugar Loaf Mountain.