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.

Andy and I on the rustic old-school tram running from the city center up the hill to Santa Teresa. Enlarge photo

The view from the top of Parque das Ruínas. Enlarge photo

The Lapa Steps by Selarón. Enlarge photo

For dinner back in Rio we metroed to the world-famous beach, Ipanema. Public transportation (the subway and the buses) here is extremely convenient. It helps that the city sprawls along the water in a line.

After sundown, the promenade that runs along the beach is still a stream of beautiful fit Brazilians walking, running, rollerblading, bicycling, flirting, and playing. On the sand just below, beach volleyball and soccer are still going too.

As we perused restaurants, we missed how cheap Argentina and Peru had been. Brazil was no cheaper than the States, it seemed.

In the morning our guide, Elvarado (again, hired through Wildland Adventures), picked us up at our hostel to take us on a Historic City-Center tour. He recounted a history that resonated with those we heard in Peru and Argentina ‘ of natives, European conquest, struggle for and achievement of independence, turbulent politics during the 20th century, and finally a brighter picture of better governance and prosperity in the new millennium. But Brazil stands out from the other two for being colonized by Portuguese instead of Spanish and for experiencing a peaceful transition to independence. Today the president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, has a 90 percent approval rating for applying smart economic policy to pull many out of poverty ‘ along the lines of distributing loans to motivate production. A woman is next in command in Lula’s party, so in a few months, when his two terms have run out, Brazil is expected to have a female president!

We visited a few monuments and churches. Most memorable was a Franciscan convent ‘ a church interior excessively and magnificently clad in gold.

We walked for hours, stopping every once in a while at the very convenient juice shops on nearly every other corner. They make the most refreshing smoothies out of all kinds of tropical fruits. They also serve coffee, cakes, sandwiches, etc. You usually just stand at the bar while you have a snack. I tried an açai smoothie, which I thought was far better than anything I’ve ever had at Jamba Juice.

Besides a female president, Rio has a lot to look forward to. They are working hard to improve their city, by cracking down on crime and developing infrastructure, in anticipation for the World Cup in 2014 and the Summer Olympics in 2016.

Elvarado took us to the neighborhood where he lives, Santa Teresa, by way of old rickety tram. This quieter residential town is smack-dab in the middle of the greater metropolis, and the very old tram that rides up the hill from the city center passes through scenic jungle surroundings. The 10-minute ride was like transporting us into story land. The setting: bohemian hill town populated by artists and intellectuals who all take care of each other’s kids and take time to stop and chat to whomever they meet while strolling the cobblestones. The Great Depression led to the abandonment of the grand abodes once owned by some of Rio’s upper class. The ’60s brought hippies to reoccupy the dilapidated hillside mansions.

We stopped at the neighborhood bar so Elvarado could say hi to three of his friends: a sculptor, a professor, and a fellow tour guide, who were having their midday beer. This bar doubles as a convenience shop, with a rainbow of essentials arranged like a grand piece of artwork against the wall behind the bar.

We couldn’t get far before Elvarado would run into another friend, this time a tiny old woman with a weathered potato-skin face and a big, crooked-tooth, lipless smile that made my day. They embraced and spoke words we couldn’t understand. Elvarado went on to explain that she was their neighborhood’s Carnaval queen, a woman always loved and respected by all.

We climbed hills and stairs to Parque das Ruínas, the ruins of a hilltop mansion inhabited 80 years past by an extremely wealthy female patron of the arts. At the very top of her house was a panoramic view of the city from her balcony! And I thought we were spoiled with the Puget Sound view from our house. This view was something else. The expansive bay set off by mountains, a sprawling dance of skyscrapers. She would have grand parties up here, but this house too fell into disrepair following her death and was even inhabited by homeless people for a few decades. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t mind being homeless if I got to crash up here!

We descended what look like normal stairs as you walk down, but when you turn around you see an explosion of color in a mosaic that turns the stairs into a playful marvel. This long flight of stairs is tiled by Selarón, a Chilean artist. He’s toiled for decades, picking tiles from his ventures all over the world to add to his masterpiece. His signature icon, which you see in many of the tiles he paints himself, is a dog with a pregnant woman. Pictures of the artist himself, with a huge flamboyant mustache, show him to be as quirky as his characteristic symbol. Despite the fact that the stairs look complete, all filled in with tile, it is actually always a work-in-progress, which he calls his “great madness.” A fun fact we learned: hip-hop producers Snoop Dogg and Pharell filmed parts of their “Beautiful” music video on these steps.

I thought my own quirky dad would appreciate this bizarre artist and his tile festival of stairs as much as I did, so I picked him up a signature tile of Selarón and a postcard. The 10 reals ($5 US) that I paid will go toward funding Selarón’s work.

We parted with Elvarado at the bottom of the stairs to tackle a couple of museums on our own. The Museum of Fine Arts had an impressively innovative floor of modern art I particularly enjoyed. The Historical Museum enlightened us on the indigenous natives of Brazil, the country’s history of slavery, and many other important topics.

At the hostel we met a whole crew of fun backpackers (Irish, Moroccan, British, Italian) and shared taxis to Lapa, the neighborhood downtown that has fantastic street parties on Friday nights. What a scene! The four blocks were absolutely teeming with young revelers. Where cars would usually go stood stands upon stands of food and drink.

We observed a mesmerizing African drum show. Twenty-some drums, an orchestra of percussion. Even gringos couldn’t help moving to the beat.

Next we came up to a couple of guys performing Capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian art form invented by slaves to secretly practice fighting by disguising it in the form of a dance. It involved crazy acrobatics like I’ve never seen! They’re figuratively fighting, but it’s actually a beautiful dance with incredible coordination and skill.

I was a kid in a candy store on the streets in this part of Rio ‘ so many cool sights to drool at. We explored for hours, beers in hand. We even ran into our friends from Ilha Grande!

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.

After a short night’s sleep we went at it again ‘ this time it was an all-day boat party. We and all our new friends were babbling brooks of joy at being on a boat, sipping caipirinhas, and being driven around to Ilha Grande’s most gorgeous lagoons. We felt like we belonged in a movie or a music video.

When we got to the first lagoon Andy was the first to jump in. Within a matter of minutes everyone (about 30 20-something-year-olds) followed suit except me and Italian Tweedledumb, Paolo. He confessed to me with a big adorable grin, “Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t know how to swim.” But that didn’t stop him. Soon he was paddling around down there with a life jacket like a three-year-old. I think people found a way to jump off almost every possible perch on the boat.

Andy, Tweedledee Ian, and Tweedledumb Paolo with caipirinhas in hand at the helm of the boat. Enlarge photo

The roof of the boat was a big flat platform, perfect for a dance floor. This was the most surreal party ‘ I think for all of us. I was chatting up top with one of the Brazilians who helps run the hostel, Frederico, when a man in a small motor boat drove up alongside our boat. Frederico asked me if I liked coconut. When I said yes he called down to the man below in Portuguese. The man threw up a coconut. Frederico pulled out a pocketknife, whacked off the top of the coconut, tossed in a straw, and gave it to me. The all-natural refreshment couldn’t have been more fitting.

At one point the Brazilians turned off the music and joined all together in song and dance. They really know how to make their own fun. Just the sight of them all singing and dancing made me extremely happy.

The bar turned out a continuous flow of caipirinhas. You would think they would mass-make these ahead of time for the sake of ease, but instead the cocktails were ever so fresh, made from limes they chopped the moment before they threw them in your cup so they could only make four at a time, with two regular-size shakers.

The next morning our time in paradise expired. Andy kept asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a few more days?” I could stay the rest of my life so happily here, but I was also very excited to see Rio.

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 were five and six of six packed into a five-person car when we got picked up from our hostel the next morning. One was the driver, a middle-aged man with kind eyes. Two was a soft-spoken Asian-American from San Diego. Three and four were lively, talkative, 19-year-old British girls. Soon they revealed themselves to be the crazy hooligans they were. One of them mentioned getting a split lip when she instigated a fight with a cab driver she disagreed with. She proceeded to break off his windshield to whack him with it, and while her friends wrestled with him, she went to grab the key from the ignition. The driver surrendered the argument. One of their other stories showed another reason they weren’t to be messed with: When a few guys pissed them and their friends off, they got them kicked out of the hostel. Then they called around to other hostels so the guys were barred from most places in the city and had to sleep on the street.

Without asking the driver, one of them turned on the radio to blasting volume. At a rest stop they immediately started chain-smoking and drinking beers. It was only noon. One of them wore high heels, Daisy Duke jean shorts, an absurd wide-brimmed sun hat, and a tank top hanging so low her nipple peeked out on occasion. They had Andy and I nonstop laughing as they talked about their travels and their schemes on how to swindle money from their parents to extend their trips. They provided entertainment the rest of the car ride, singing and dancing along to popular music. I almost envied them with the insane stories they told so casually like it was nothing. While they both looked like they could use a good shampoo, teeth cleaning, and facial, they certainly had style with panache.

We transferred to a boat to be ferried over to Ilha Grande, pure underdeveloped paradise. Yellow-sand beaches, rustic Pirates-of-the-Caribbean ambience, people lazing away in hammocks, a harbor speckled with small weathered sailboats, absolutely no cars, and nothing more than a dirt trail stringing the town together. It didn’t bother us that our six-bed dorm room was dingy and crammed because maximum time would be spent in the sun.

Do you see what I am saying? Enlarge photo

Andy and I followed the dirt path and the sandy shore into town. Restaurant owners were wheeling their food supplies back with them from the small grocery. It was the kind of small town where nightlife was going out on a stroll and bumping into all your friends. We had our own happy hour with French fries and caipirinhas, the typical cocktail of Brazil, consisting of a rum-like liquor, sugar, and lots of lime.

Andy remarked, “This is where I would honeymoon.” I seconded that. It surprised us that big developers had not yet commercialized and overdeveloped this haven. We were grateful its more natural, virgin magic was protected and intact.

Our dinner was all-you-can-eat Brazilian barbeque back at the hostel’s restaurant. The hostel’s youthful employees sang behind the bar while they cut bread, sliced tomatoes, and grilled chicken.

The hotel’s surroundings again had that rusty, jungley Pirates-of-the-Caribbean feel. So did one of the male employees, who looked like he could be straight out of the movie with a big, crooked smile, nearly black skin, long messy dreads, and a rum-drunk laugh.

We all sat at long wooden tables with chill Jack Johnson playing over the speakers. I met a sweet Swedish girl who met her Aussie boyfriend on the road a month ago and had been traveling with him ever since. We met a British Tweedledee, Ian, and his Italian Tweedledumb, Paolo, whose grins and jokes kept us laughing all through dinner.

Not long after the people had cleaned their plates of food, we all started making our way to the dance floor. Jack Johnson was replaced by the rave techno music they love so much down here. Some local Brazilians drifted in. Dance dynamics turned crazy so that even the shier backpackers broke out of their shells. Dance-offs and this one Brazilian goofball swinging from the ceiling beams all made for a wild, fun dance party.

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.

The next day at mid-afternoon, we touched down in Rio de Janeiro. Our previously arranged ride having fallen through, we were on our own to find our way to our hostel.

So many people ‘ uncles, family friends, other backpackers ‘ had warned us about this city’s dangers. In just the past two weeks, I had encountered three or four backpackers whose stay in Rio had been tainted by getting mugged. We heard stories of little gang kids attacking people with knives. We had also watched the film City of God with our mother just before our trip, which served to really freak her out. We tried to reassure her that we would be safe, but would we? There is no denying that that film was based on a true story. So there was the bad and the ugly, but there was also the good and the beautiful. I had heard people sing this city’s praises more than any other city. I read “Rio” by Ruy Castro, one of Rio’s most famous author’s; the book was an illustration of his enormous love for his city.

Seeing that ATMs come with six guards armed with large guns, we could tell this city required a strong police presence.

During our bus ride to Copacabana, the area where our hostel was, we saw countless favelas (Rio’s slums), the most tenuous-looking constructions made of cheap materials stacked high on top of each other, a faded rainbow of colors, laundry hanging everywhere, and dirt roads despite an urban setting. Andy caught a glimpse of blood streaming out from beneath a tarp covering a dead body. We couldn’t tell if it was from a car crash or perhaps gunshot? That freaked us out, and as soon as it was finally our stop we hastily hopped into a taxi. After the first two cab drivers we tried didn’t know where the address of our hostel was, we grew even more anxious. We felt like at any moment, a gang of children would attack us with knives and mug us. With hindsight, it’s amusing at how paranoid we were that first night.

While walking back from dinner later that night, I saw a large woman shirtless, breastfeeding her baby on the sidewalk. We also saw a few other homeless people, but the area didn’t feel too dangerous altogether.

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.

After a hearty lunch of pesto tagliatelle and French fries (both could actually be considered Argentinean foods because of its history of fluxes of immigrants from both places), we visited MALBA, the Museum of Latin American Art of Buenos Aires. Waiting in the long line to get in was worth it to see the museum’s small but delightful exhibit. A substantial number of photographs by Mapplethorpe, one of my favorites, struck my fancy.

We explored Calle Florida, which felt like the Champs-Elysées of Buenos Aires, packed with pedestrians and high-class shops. We entered Galerías Pacífico, a fancy mall to get to Centro Cultural Borges for three floors of photography exhibits.

On our long walk back across downtown we were surprised NOT to witness a crash, as rush hour traffic here is crazy! They have especially wide avenidas, and during certain times of day, gridlock is so bad that only a couple of cars can squeeze through at each green light.

We went to a classy steakhouse (not all-you-can-eat) to commemorate our final night in Buenos Aires with Nicole. We ordered just two steaks between the three of us, which turned out to be huge slabs of perfectly seared beef on wooden boards framed by 10 “sides” ‘ ramekins of, for instance, sundried tomato or mustard sauce.

As a flexitarian for environmental reasons, my guilt over contributing to deforestation and greenhouse gas emissions by creating more demand for cow products was overshadowed by how much I enjoyed this blissful Argentinean beef. Steak, wine, and warm chocolate cake made this one big aphrodisiac/endorphin-producing meal, and it showed on our faces.

The cold rain here and Nicole’s hype about Rio made us so excited for our next destination, a sunny city of beautiful people who really know how to embrace the sweet life.