Rio de Janeiro 16-? June 2006


Varig f***ing Varig

I've never been to South America so this trip was eagerly awaited. Unfortunately, I chose to fly with Varig, the Brazilian National airline, sponsors of the 2006 World Cup and as you see below, specialists in cancelling flights.

Guess which airline your esteemed correspondent is using ...

They promptly cancelled the flight out and transferred me to BA, my second least favourite airline for reasons too long to go into here. BA finally left 4 hours late with their usual abysmal communication so I missed my connection in Sao Paolo. I can imagine hell as being run by Varig with a customer relations department run by BA but more later on this theme.

Arriving in Sao Paolo, Varig decided to send me across Sao Paolo to the domestic airport because it was quicker. I'll say. The taxi hurtled across Sao Paolo as if pursued by all the demons of hell, and only about 1m. from those cars in front of him too daft to get out of way. At the other airport, the Varig employees unlike their management, sorted me out and calmed me down, (everybody has been polite and very helpful so far, a charming and handsome people), and much to my surprise did not cancel the next flight. I then enjoyed a wonderful cup of coffee in the airport lounge while everybody samba'd around watching football on giant TVs. In Brazil, when there are no live matches, they just watch action replays all the time. In between world cups, I suspect they do exactly the same.

Then off to Rio de Janeiro, the journey is only an hour, to land at yet another wrong airport, Santas Dumond, (my driver was waiting at the international airport, Galeano, also named after Antonio Carlos Jobim, one of my favourite composers). Flying into Rio is quite spectacular. We hurtled round the Christ on a mountain statue (the Corcovado) and landed on an airport which is actually on the seafront. Coming into land we overtook a speedboat at roughly the same level much to the driver's surprise. Its a bit like landing at Copenhagen where you kind of weave in and out of the big windmills in the offshore windfarm until all of sudden, the land appears and bonk, you're down. It was less nerve-wracking than the taxi drive though.

I then had to take yet another bus, to get over to the international airport. This went straight through the middle of Rio. Rio looks a really fascinating city, with a mixture of old and new developments along with the usual shanty towns. Pity about the roads though, one pot-hole the bus hit I could have swore removed the whole front axle, but the bus ground on, making roughly the same noise as before, (a gorilla let loose in a sheet metal factory with a 20kg sledgehammer). Perhaps it didn't have a front axle in the first place. Another pot-hole made everybody fly up in the air, luggage, driver and all, like those free-fall flights use to train astronauts. I couldn't resist a Slim Pickens "Yi-haa" dedicated to all those people on the bus who had seen Dr Strangelove (very few I feel); all this for only 3 Rials, (about 80p). NASA could clearly cut costs and transfer all astronaut training to the inter-airport bus service here.

Finally, we arrived at Galeano airport - aka Antonio Carlos Jobim airport, so with the first few bars of "the girl from Ipanema" drifting through what was left of my mind after 24 hours travel, I went in search of my driver, only 4 hours late. Bless him, he was still there and off we went to Barra, a resort near Copacabana about an hour's drive from Rio. We passed the time talking about the Brazilian football team in a mixture of Portugese, (I'm up to about 20 words now), Spanish and French when I was guessing, and occasional Swedish when I was hallucinating with jet-lag. Its amazing how much you can pick up off dual language signs in airports so I boldly theorised about the chances for the Brazilian team whilst explaining to the driver the importance of washing your hands after going to the toilet, where he could leave any luggage trolleys which might fall into his possession, and, my masterpiece, how to fill in the customs declaration form. I also demonstrated my scream, recently perfected in the taxi journey in Sao Paolo, and tried to explain in my newly acquired and increasingly adventurous Portugese, why England have a Swedish team manager with the personality and football acumen of a dishwasher, which challenged my use of the subjunctive no end.

So here I am on Barra beach, which is like Copacabana but with slightly fewer nipples. As it is raining, it is also not unlike Southport. Only a Briton could travel 5,000 miles to one of the world's great beaches and stroll up and down in the rain, saying mustn't grumble to one or two surprised Brazilians, ("Esta e mia primeria visita e voltaria e recommendaria Barra, chuck").

Brazil is full of well-dressed people and so this morning I went for a long walk along the beach to show off my newly acquired digital watch, knotted handkerchief, calf-length shorts, white legs, socks and sandals amongst the surrounding thongs. It would be immodest to describe the storms of applause I received for my stylistic contribution. All I need now is a Brazilian flag and I'm all set.

The Sugar Loaf and the Eagles

Day 2 in Rio de Janeiro and what a day it was. My contact here and his wife who both speak excellent English in spite of 4 years in Houston, gave me a whistle stop tour of Rio and were the most perfect hosts. We wandered through famous place after famous place before finishing up on top of Sugar Loaf Mountain via two cable cars. The view is simply spectacular. The whole of Rio and Littoria (I think) on the other side of the bay is laid out before you although it was a bit cloudy so we couldn't see the Corcovado but both Copacabana beach and Ipanema were visible just down the coast. You could also see the impossibly short runway of Santas Dumond airport on which I landed screaming yesterday, although I may have still been screaming from the Sao Paolo taxi ride, the world's longest inverted 4g ride. I didn't like to mention to my hosts that the last cable car I was on (in Pra Loup in France) plunged into a valley a month later. It was a bit bouncy but nowhere near as bouncy as the bus between the airports yesterday.

The Sugar Loaf
View of the airport I landed at from the top of the Sugar Loaf. If you look closely you can still see the speed-boat driver we overtook, looking for a rematch. Obviously a Sao Paolo taxi driver on his day off.

It was very spooky to talk to my lovely wife listening to the Eagles in Twickenham Stadium whilst standing on top of Sugar Loaf Mountain on the other side of the world. It makes you realize how much the world has shrunk. For some reason, the surrounding people were surprised when I burst into Desperado. Actually, I suspect the only thing that surprised them was that I didn't sing the samba version. The poor babies were shivering as the temperature had slumped to only 18C in the cloud, an unheard of low. To satisfy the geologists out there, Sugar Loaf Mountain is capped by Augen Gneiss and very gneiss it is too.

Speaking of Antonio Carlos Jobim yesterday and Ipanema today, off we then went to Ipanema itself. What a joy it was to sit in the very spot in the very restaurant where the song was written, (Garota de Ipanema). The walls are covered in Jobim pictures and news-clippings and most of the waiters were old enough to remember him. I asked them if they had helped him with the words:-

"Tall and tanned and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema came walking,"
"Can't you manage a bigger tip than that you mean bastard ?"
"And when she walked the boys they all say Ahhhh."
"What do you mean you don't get paid till Thursday ? You musicians are all the same"
"Oh how I tell her I love her."
"Why don't you piss off and write it somewhere else ?"
. . .

True creativity will always find a way.

I have a musical contribution of my own to make, slightly ripped off from Tom Lehrer.

"The samba bands do serenade, and will not shut up till they are paid . . ."

We ate a meat called Picino which has a wavy line or two over several of the letters, although my Portugese is now near fluent and I was able to tell the waiters how to find the transit terminal and inform them precisely of their customs allowance. A lovely evening all round, apart from the samba bands whom I have to say were uniformly awful. Antonio C. Jobim would have been vibrating in his grave at 440Hz (middle A) if he could have heard them.

The great Jobim composed "Girls from Ipanema" in the corner table.
But first he wrote it on the wall ...

The local good beer is called Chopp and it certainly works. There is another drink whose name I mercifully forget which contains something like alcohol, more alcohol, sugar, more alcohol, lemon and curare. The guy at the next table had one and from what he said I think its called "Oh Fu ...". He didn't say anything else.

I'm back in the hotel now preparing to besport myself along Barra beach tomorrow but I haven't yet decided which part of my extensive wardrobe to air next. I am still looking for a Brazil cap so I have something to wear in the later stages of the world cup but Neanderthals don't seem to have made it to Brazil so I can't find one big enough. Tomorrow, its Brazil versus Australia and I am reliably informed that it will be pointless trying to:-

So, there you have it. I do hope they don't get knocked out before I leave.

Another day dawns

Well, its true what they say. I now have in my archives a photograph of a pristine 10km long beach with majestic surf, a most pleasant 22C and at 2pm on a Sunday with absolutely nobody on it whatsoever. Where are they all ? In front of the telly of course.

Barra Beach
Barra beach, Rio de Janeiro during a Brazilian football match.

The first goal was greeted with a roar which had the hotel swaying and the second goal had everybody swaying. The country is completely mad but you have to love them for it. They had even hung enormous Brazilian flags in between tower blocks, goodness knows how they managed it.

Driving

Its not that the drivers are all crazy or anything, but actually they are. The only difference between here and Rome is that the pot-holes slow them down a bit and there's no nuns crossing the road to sneak across behind. The answer is simple, you simply live out your life on the same side of the road as you were born on if you wish to survive.

Coffee

I am becoming something of a coffee snob. The cup of coffee I had in Sao Paolo on Friday was simply delightful. The coffee in the hotel in the morning tastes like jockstraps boiled in bitumen. It is utterly vile. This afternoon I had a cup of espresso in a cafe which was sweet. It made me blink for a moment but wasn't at all bad although it would be hard to overdose on it as it comes in cups the size of an eye-bath.

Miscellaneous jottings

Days pass quickly when giving courses but there is usually nothing to do in the evenings except read and as on previous days, scratch, drool and stumble about. They have this lovely method of serving beer in the restaurants. When you order a bottle, it comes in an ice bucket with two backups and the waiter's fond hope that you will slurp them all down. I hate to disappoint but you get the feeling that if you don't oblige, one of them will grab you from behind and tilt you back while the other opens the bottle on your molars and pours it down. "How do you like your beer sir ? Willingly or unwillingly ?"

The never-ending return

As I write this, I have spent the last 24 hours trying to get back and I haven't left Rio yet but I have moved into another hotel, the Gloria, or Past Gloria I should say, given the number of famous people who once graced its portals. I was assigned room 571. Up the lift to the 5th floor to be greeted with a sign which said rooms 500-550 this way. Hmmm. Where is 571 ? Eventually I gave up, and asked a passing porter as well as taking the opportunity to inform him where he could reclaim VAT. The mystery was solved, it was in another building. Silly me. Mind you I wasn't the only one to have this problem.

One of the famous previous guests. The sign reads "In spite of his triumphs with special relativity in 1905 and general relativity in 1915, Albert Einstein spent May 1925 trying to find his room but failed and slept by the pool."

So far, Varig have been entirely consistent and have got everything wrong. They have now cancelled my first two return flights and postponed one. They tried to reassure me however by claiming that they have to go to Frankfurt sometime, "because they are official sponsors of the World Cup". Well that's nice. Don't give a toss about your customers but must keep up face. I only hope its Lufthansa who run it. Varig could not collectively run a chip-shop.

As a postscript, I finally got home after a later postponed flight caused me to miss my flight in Frankfurt for London. The next flight of course broke down and I swept triumphantly into Heathrow just 42 hours after I set off, average speed, just over a 100 mph. Perhaps I should have got the Sao Paolo taxi driver to take me home.


24th June, 2006.